


Fallen From Grace

by isTrash



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Wings, Angel/Human Relationships, Anxiety, Artist Jeremy, Biblical Reinterpretation, Blood, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Depression, Diners, Fallen Angels, Fights, Fist Fights, Guardian Angels, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, btw forget jeremy's jewish in this sorry k bye, k that's enough christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-11-14 14:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 37,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18054062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isTrash/pseuds/isTrash
Summary: What made life so unfair? What did you have to live through to declare these words and actually get taken seriously for saying them and not getting accused of being the protagonist of a cliché high school movie?-Jeremy is just a depressed millennial trying to get by and Michael is a literal angel





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this has been something that has been in my notes for far too long, so I decided to finally write out what had come to mind. this has been an interesting topic for me to write and characterize, so I really hope you enjoy reading this ٩(⁎❛ᴗ❛⁎)۶
> 
> TW: there are suicidal thoughts and actions at the end of this, so if you want to skip over that section, stop reading at "Jeremy walked into the kitchen" and begin reading again at "He thought of Rich."

Jeremy has had fucking enough.

_"This is the worst day ever!"_

Jeremy pondered over the statement. It was usually something cliché uttered in the conflict of a teen drama, from a bitchy, whiny girl whose life turned into shambles after accused of pushing someone in front of a bus. (Mean Girls reference. Rich had forced him to watch too many teen chick flicks with him in the two's free time.)

What made life so unfair? What did you have to live through to declare these words and actually get taken seriously for saying them and not getting accused to be the protagonist of a cliché high school movie?

He always imagined the day his mother moved away would have to be the worst of his own life. The way her voice shook tearfully while men moved her things into the moving van, the way she’d told him that it was for the best that his parents split up… his mother taught him so much; to love art, to care for other people, to find his worth in creativity rather than achievement, and to stay strong when things were tough.

Staying positive wasn't one of Jeremy’s stronger qualities. He tended to add things up and focus on them until they became too much for him to handle. Standing too close to the picture to see it correctly; the lines of good and bad, fair and unjust, right and wrong… Each portion of his life blurred together into some obscure horror. Right now things were too much. Or worse yet, too little.

He tore the black apron off, bundled it up, and threw it in the dumpster beside the building. His job at the coffee shop wasn't much but it was all he had sometimes. Jeremy would miss it, just as much as he missed his youth, his boyfriend, and the number of friends he'd fucked things up with along the way. What was wrong with him? Everything that mattered was slipping through his fingers and he couldn't get any of it back. He didn't have anything left. Not a single goddamn thing.

He tried to remove the thought from his head. Of course he did. He had Rich. He had his art. He had a roof over his head, food on the table, and air in his lungs. He ran dry fingers through curly hair, wishing it was enough.

Walking home, he cursed under his breath. “Forgot to take my medicine, dammit.”

He always forgot. His boyfriend used to remind him but he wasn't around anymore. He couldn't resent him for leaving even when he tried. Jeremy would have done the same. After all, he was lucky he put up with his shit for as long as he did.

The months had passed by in a haze. He felt as though he was losing himself along with the rest of it. Like he'd woken up to see someone he wasn’t in the mirror. Someone with breakouts all over their face, bags under their eyes, and greasy hair that stood up at all angles.

He kicked a rock and watched it skip across the pavement as he tried to find solutions. He considered looking for another job, a new relationship… The hurtful truth was that he didn't want to start over. Why create a new life just to mess it up again? He couldn't go back and he couldn't move forward. Trapped in the middle of something he didn't ask for. He was the only thing messing everything up in all of this.

The New Jersey air smelled like cut grass and engine exhaust that day. Autumn had begun to set in early this year. The leaves were still green and full of life but they would only remain another month at the most. He'd lived here all his life; he knew the seasonal patterns well.

The sun was setting. It was dusk. The Autumn atmosphere felt breezy on his exposed skin.

* * *

His phone buzzed in his front pocket as he turned the lock to his apartment. He threw his keys and jacket on the floor, and pushed the door shut behind him. The hollow sound of the lock latching echoed through the cluttered living room. Leaning against the frame, he read the text from Rich.

**Today 6:52 PM**

**how was work??**

_got fired._

**oh shit**

**r u ok?**

_it’s fine. it’s my own goddamn fault._

**want me 2 come over?**

_not tonight. i’m fine rich._

He wasn't fine; far from it, actually. He couldn't think straight or breathe enough to fill his lungs. He felt so alone and lost. It burned deep inside of him. This shouldn't have bothered him so much but he couldn't seem to bear the weight of life resting atop his aching shoulders. He didn’t know what he was living for. He wasn’t sure he ever did.

Jeremy went into the kitchen and opened the half empty bottle of vodka from the cabinet above the fridge and took a long draw of it. It was bitter at the back of his throat but oh-so-good. He shuddered and capped the bottle only to resign himself to opening it again and taking another swig. He didn't put the bottle down but carried it with him to the bathroom. The thick stench of the strong substance burned in his nose.

He barely knew his own face in the mirror. He looked so much older than he had in the past summer. His eyes were dark and bloodshot from weeks of fitful slumber and unrest. His nights spent sitting up watching Adult Swim and drinking hard liquor until dawn showed now. He was paler than usual too, which was admittedly saying something.

“You look like a fucking Apocalypse of the Damned zombie,” he said to Mirror Jeremy. Another time he might have laughed but not tonight.

He was sixteen the first time he thought of it. He always talked himself out of it, always found a way around it, always found a reason. But he was just so desperate now. He didn't want to screw things up anymore. He was alone and it was all his fault. He'd done every bit of this to himself, like a pathetic Icarus of the modern day.

He couldn't hate himself if he was dead, he thought as he grasped the bottle of Xanax. Nobody would be here to stop him. He could leave this world. The universe would be better off without him anyway.

Tears raced down his cheeks. He was scared but not scared enough to change his mind. He took a deep breath and slid down onto the floor. The bathroom tile was cool, almost welcoming. He leaned his head against the wall as he eased the orange bottle open. He started one at a time, pill after pill after pill, and finally poured the rest into his hand, washing them back in one mouthful with the reeking vodka.

This was the end of him. He closed his eyes and felt the drugs wash through him. Slowly he faded into darkness; like he'd stepped into a thick fog. There was just pain, pain, pain racking through his stomach and bleeding into the rest of his body. He felt the need to vomit; felt it coming up his throat but refused to let it. He wouldn’t let this sorry body keep him alive. He couldn't force enough air into his chest and stopped trying. It would all stop soon, he said to himself. The void of an eternal sleep would come and he could finally get some goddamn rest.

He thought of Rich. His best friend. His practical brother. The only one who ever stayed. He should have apologized to him. He should have said he was sorry to be the one to leave.

His world went cold and Rich was there when it did. He was too far gone to see but he felt him there. It wasn’t real. It couldn't have been real. There was a scream and talking a moment later but every other word was lost. He'd heard his friend scream many times, but never like that.

So many faint sensations came; the hollow sound of the glass bottle falling against the tile, Rich cursing and _oh god_ , crying.

Sentences, scattered and faded. “Please…friend… think… overdose… ambulance… begging…”

One string of words was clear as his friend’s arms wrapped around his chest, pulled him close. He felt Rich's hands in his hair, his breath against his forehead. So far away yet so near.

“Come on, stay strong Jeremy! Help’s on the way… I... I love you...”

He was already gone, right? Rich would be okay. Rich was stronger than Jeremy was. Rich had always been stronger than him. Rich would be better off alone, not left with the burden of having a depressed friend.

Maybe the worst day of his life would be the day he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i'm sorry, I swear this will have longer chapters later. right now this is just the beginning of our plot! anyways, like I said, i'm incredibly happy to finally write this
> 
> in case you skipped the TW section, here's a summary of what all went down: jeremy overdosed on his xanax after the dark feelings surrounding him became too much


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich knew something was wrong. He didn't know how but he knew. He felt a chill run down his spine. Something made him get into his car; drew him to check on Jeremy.
> 
> -
> 
> Rich feels compelled to rush over to Jeremy's apartment for some odd, out of body reason he couldn't explain if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly so thrilled about all of the positive feedback this fic has received already! it makes me very excited to post new chapters（*´▽｀*）
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

Rich knew something was wrong. He didn't know how but he knew. He felt a chill run down his spine. Something made him get into his car; drew him to check on Jeremy.

He’d ran three red lights on his way over, unable to understand why he felt so panicked. Something wasn't right with his best friend and he had to be there.

He knocked on the door, waiting for an answer before he pulled out his key. It dismayed him to find the door already unlocked. The creeping panic crept further up his chest and into his throat. His heart beat in double time. Nobody in their right mind left their front door unlocked in New Jersey. He didn't bother to close the door again as he rushed into the apartment, searching frantically for Jeremy. He took note of the jacket and keys lying haphazardly on the floor and shouted his friend’s name.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the bathroom light through the cracked door. He steadied himself and nudged the door open. He would remember this night for the rest of his life.

A thousand feelings struck his chest, wrapped around his head, and slapped his face. His scream didn't sound like his own… It was simply something happening; part of the scene before him. He dialed nine-one-one before he even thought about it. He grasped for words but they evaded him. At first all he could do was beg the soft spoken woman on the phone to please, please save his friend.

A short wash of cool composure came and he said in a hollow tone, “He’s overdosed. Xanax, I think. There's a mostly empty bottle of vodka here too. The prescription bottle is empty. He took it all. Send an ambulance, fast. He's still breathing but barely.”

He gave them the address and choked out, “Please, get here fast and save my friend, I'm begging you.”

Rich was never a touchy-feely person. He preferred to show love in other ways; he was always on time if not early, never forgot a birthday, and always knew the perfect gift. He was exceedingly loyal. But now in this panic and pain he needed to hold his friend. He needed to feel Jeremy’s heartbeat while it was still there.

Jeremy had always been there for him ever since the first day they met in 1st grade. Always. Now here he was, on his way out of this world, and Rich had come too late. He should have known. He pulled him as close as he could, stroked his hair, whispered in his ear.

“Come on, stay strong Jeremy! Help’s on the way... I... I love you...”

He folded in on himself and fought for breath. He felt like a child as he rocked their two bodies back and forth, praying to anyone that might be listening. He pleaded with heaven, hell, and all that stood between.

It felt like an eternity before the paramedics rushed into the bathroom and pulled Jeremy from his arms. He wanted to fight them—wanted to keep them from taking his friend away—but he knew better. Jeremy had tried to take his life away from him, and they would do everything to keep him from succeeding.

“He’s strong,” Rich repeated to himself like he’d been doing for the last few minutes. “His heart’s still beating. He’s strong.”

Medical terms flew through the air and over his head. Things would be okay. Of course they would. They'd save Jeremy and then he could tell him not to ever do anything like that again. Right?

But what if he wasn't right? He imagined the scenes he'd have to face; Jeremy dying before they even reached the hospital, his father’s eyes after losing his only son, a bitter funeral bathed in black clothes, the days to come… He didn't know how Jeremy could expect him to survive that, and if he did, at what cost?

His only friend that actually gave a shit attempted suicide. Whatever the outcome, Rich knew he’d never be quite the same after seeing him like that. Not after knowing what he was capable of. He wanted to be angry but there was only pain. Pain and the deepest platonic love that he knew.

In the ambulance, he held his face in his hands and tried to keep his thoughts at bay. He fought and fought, but the only thing that came was tears and burning lungs. He could tell himself he didn't understand, but he did. He'd been there; he just never quite took it this far. He stared hard at the metallic floor and his worn shoes.

They pumped Jeremy’s stomach. He moaned as he wretched; the worst noise in the world. He tried to say something but he was too far gone.

More medical talk came but Rich was deaf to it through ringing ears and a spinning head. He barely felt awake when they reached the hospital. He followed after the paramedics and watched helplessly as they turned Jeremy over to a set of doctors.

“Does he have any allergies?” he was asked.

“J-just to cats.”

The doctor who’d had the question walked away and began forcing an IV into Jeremy’s arm. A large-framed nurse restrained him as his friend flatlined. Rich screamed and thrashed and cried but to no avail. Moments later the machine was beeping steadily again.

The room was composed of sharp tones. Sterile, stinging whites. A few muted blues and greens too. The lights burned his tear-ravaged eyes. The stale air smelled of disinfectant.

“We’ve got him stabilized! Get him to the ICU, post someone to monitor his vitals and put him on suicide watch if he makes it through the night.”

 _If_ _he_ _makes_ _it_ _through_ _the_ _night_. Rich’s legs gave out, and he fell back into a chair. He didn't know how long he sobbed, just that whatever pain this was, it was worse than dying could ever be. If Jeremy died, he'd never forgive him. He'd never forgive himself.

He should have known.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael was hand picked to be Jeremy's guardian angel. To say that Michael loved being Jeremy's guardian angel was an understatement; Jeremy was Michael's pride and joy. 
> 
> -
> 
> Michael laments on his time spent in heaven being Jeremy's guardian angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is seriously one of my favorites out of the ones i've written so far. I just hope everyone likes it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

Michael was hand picked to be Jeremy's guardian angel. To say that Michael loved being Jeremy's guardian angel was an understatement; Jeremy was Michael's pride and joy.

God had a smile on her face with wise, kind eyes as she told him of the privilege she was placing on his soul. She explained that angels were hand-chosen to each human; matched perfectly in holy order. Only those who had known lives as humans before could bear the honor. Only they could understand the pain and struggles of Earth’s reality. It captured him with fascination.

He’d never been happier than the day Jeremy was given to him. His life was placed into his hands, so fragile and precious from the instant his heart began beating. Bethany Heere had been a loving mother from the moment she learned she was pregnant. Michael felt blessed that she was; it made his job easier.

Looking down from heaven, human lives seemed so short. They lived dizzyingly fast; always gazing to the end. Living with so many ultimatums and uncertainties. He knew the struggle of it—though the memory was now faded and obscured by this existence a million miles above. Michael felt like a year of Jeremy’s life passed by in mere days, even though it wasn't so.

Right from the start, Jeremy had a knack for getting himself into trouble. The first couple years of his life were comprised mostly of the angel groaning “Motherfucker, _don't eat that._ ”

Michael wanted to protect him but he never quite knew where to step in, or how much. He couldn't protect him from everything, even though he wanted to. Humans learned from suffering, to a degree. He had to let him fall off his bike, had to watch him get the flu, and couldn't stop every bully’s punch. Every little pain hurt Michael more than Jeremy. He was his joy. Jeremy was his privilege.

He was allowed to give him blessings every once in awhile. Little things; snow on Winter mornings, the gaze of a pretty girl across the room, a new video game, a concert ticket… He always knew what the boy would enjoy. Experiencing his human’s happiness was the best sensation he'd ever known. Protecting him was hard but so rewarding. More than anything, he loved Jeremy. Jeremy was his. He ached knowing that he would eventually grow old and die but then he also felt warm inside when he thought about how Jeremy would be next to him then; young and close.

He'd made many friends among the guardian angels. They’d talk about their humans and their own past lives on earth. He was closest with Jake, Rich’s guardian angel, who had already been there when Jeremy was born. They shared a lot of joys as the years passed by. Rich was very different from his friend, much more eccentric, outgoing, _loud,_  and _unapologetically_ himself, but he made Jeremy happy, so Michael loved him almost as much.

Michael’s trouble came with Jeremy’s depression. How could he be protect him from himself? It wasn't fair. But he did his best. He kept a close watch on him, made sure he got to the doctor, hell… even made sure he got a good boyfriend that fulfilled him and reminded him to take his medicine. He did everything he could, right? Wrong. His best wasn't enough. He'd failed.

He was entrusted, blessed with a human life, and he fucked it up. The man he loved so much was miserable enough to try—and hell, almost succeed—at taking his own life. He had one job, to protect Jeremy, and he'd failed him. Michael failed the one he loved most, every single day of his life from the start.

His stomach crawled up into his throat as he and Jake argued over the matter. Jake’s hands flew up in exasperation and his normally perfect hair seemed messier than ever, to really state something. His voice had lost some of its usual serenity in favor of anger.

“The fact is, you didn't do your damn job, so you sacrificed my human. Rich is in agony!”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Michael yelled back. “Jeremy would have died! I had to send someone to save him and Rich was the only one who could do it!”

“Because you didn't protect him,” he said evenly.

Michael took a sharp breath and backed down. Jake was right. Michael hadn't used a steady enough hand with Jeremy through his life. To make things worse, he'd hurt Rich in the aftermath. How had God trusted him with this? Clearly he wasn't made for it. He didn't understand but he knew there would be dire consequences.

He wished God would get angry. He wished she would scream and strike him and send him down to hell. He deserved to burn for this. But she wouldn't. Humans always imagined God to be vengeful, angry. But she was far from it. Everything she did, she did with the purest of love and patience. In everything she did there was wisdom.

She’d come to talk to him and deliver his punishment soon. She’d give him what he deserved and it would be done in a way that he would learn from it. He didn't know what to expect but it would be just. She always gave him more than he deserved.

He and Jake didn't argue or talk anymore, just watched Rich sitting by Jeremy’s bedside, grasping his hand.

Jake leaned his shoulder against his and apologized for shouting and saying the things he had. His hair brushed his neck and gave him a morsel of peace.

“It's okay,” he sniffed. “You're still right. I could have done better a long time ago.”

Michael felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he willed Jeremy to get better.

The man’s recovery had been slow and painful. Jeremy could accomplish almost anything he set his mind to do, and he'd set his mind to kill himself. He'd done a thorough job; he'd have been dead in less than two hours if Rich hadn't gone.

Michael watched with sorrow as the human he loved so much went through the motions; realizing his suicide attempt had failed, seeing how truly awful the aftermath was, and going through intense therapy. They took him off Lorazepam and put him on a less volatile antianxiety drug. His antidepressant dose was increased. Rich made him set his watch with a recurring alarm to remind him to take it at 9AM every morning.

Rich stayed in his apartment with him for two weeks while he got back on his feet. Jeremy quit therapy after the mandatory two months and moved into a different neighborhood. A change of scene was the best thing for him. With Michael’s help, he got a new job at a different coffee shop. He was getting better; little by little. He’d managed to stay off the alcohol since the incident despite the struggle it was for him.

Michael could hardly bear the weight of it. He'd let Jeremy down and couldn't ever undo that. His heart ached. All he wanted was for him to be happy and he'd failed. He was the only one who had the blessing of protecting him. Now he'd disgraced it.

What would the Lord do with him? He kept wondering. Surely she wouldn't hand him over to the Devil… Only wicked, vile souls went down there. He wasn't that bad… Was he? No. Michael was many things; a sinner, a failure, but never wicked. He knew little but he knew love.

All at once Michael felt a warmth come over him, beginning in his chest and spreading to the tips of his wings. He turned to face God and opened his mouth to make an apology.

Before he could speak she pressed a finger to his lips and stroked her hands over the crown of his wings. He let his shoulders ease and he just waited. Waited for her to tell him his fate.

She let out a soft hum and tucked her dark curls behind her ear. It didn't matter how many times Michael saw her, she always inspired love and awe in his heart. Her dark eyes saw him for everything he was and ever would be. He could only hope he hadn't fallen out of favor with her.

“You wouldn't be the first guardian angel to let his human down this way,” she said gently. Her voice was baritone but melodic. It flowed evenly as she spoke. “You won't be the last. You’re pure. As pure as a son of man could ever be. But you were still born into imperfection. Even here, a small part of that remains in you.”

“Yes… my Lord.” The thought occurred to him that she might take Jeremy away. That would teach him, wouldn't it? He'd have to watch another angel experience his joys and protect him better than Michael ever had. Jeremy was his for so long but he didn't deserve him anymore.

God gave a small laugh, bubbling with grace. “Sweet boy, don’t be afraid. I won't send you to hell. As a matter of fact… I'd say you're already there in your mind. You’re in just as much pain, or more, as your Jeremy. Besides, I've loved you far too much. It isn't a fate a creature like you would ever deserve. You have a good heart, Michael Mell. You always have. The Devil has never even dreamed of a man like you.”

Her face carried a tender smile that made her high, soft cheekbones stand out. Her features were perfectly symmetrical and her dark skin shone from within. She appeared aged but not a wrinkle kissed her face. He felt his heart warm and a peace ripple through him as she caressed his cheek.

“What will happen to me?” he whimpered. “I deserve to be punished.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You have a lot to learn, but you aren’t but worthy of punishment so much as discipline. You have a lot of time left in your journey. But don't fret, child. You’ll learn your lesson on Earth.”

His heart fell. He knew better than to question her choice. This was mercy enough. Being a human was hard… So hard. He'd barely experienced it but thinking of going back terrified him.

“How long?” he asked meekly.

“The rest of his life.”

Michael nodded and sniffed. He'd been crying too much. “Who will protect us?”

“Saint Mary will. I couldn't replace you as his guardian. He’ll only ever be yours. I gave him to you and I can't undo that. You made an oath on his behalf. Your very souls are bonded in ways not even you could understand. As for you… You won't die until he does.”

So Jeremy would be in good hands. Michael loved Mary as though she were his own mother. He trusted her implicitly.

“Thank you.” Michael said.

“Have peace, my beautiful son. Your years on Earth will have their joys and pleasures, and you’ll return to me when the time comes. Try not to take the time for granted, hmm?” And she left him.

Saint Mary came next, her olive eyes brimming with affection.

“I'll never forget the way your eyes shined when he was given to you,” she said in gentle cadence. “You'll be with him, your Jeremy. Maybe you haven't given him everything he needed or deserved but you've loved him well his whole life. It's more than he’ll ever know. God wouldn't take him from you. Besides…” she smiled with a mirthful expression. “what's a fall from grace among sons of men?”

He nodded, never feeling quite so small. Mary pulled him into a warm embrace, arms and wings enveloping him. She held him strong and steady, smoothing his hair until Saint James came.

“Are you prepared to accept the fate that lies ahead?” The man asked him, voice low and clear. Michael nodded and bowed his head.

“Good. Stand up straight for me,” he ordered.

James’ brown hair fell into his wise eyes as he looked upon him. Michael straightened his back and tucked his wings tight to his body.

“I'm gonna miss you, kid. Try to land with a little grace,” James said with a gleam in his eye. “May the spirit of God be with you.”

“May the spirit of God be with you too,” Michael said. Or he would have, if James hadn't pressed his hands firm to his chest and shoved him back to hurl him through the clouds. The skies broke to swallow him into the open air, sucking him down like the undertow of a strong tide.

In a flash, heaven was gone and he felt the holy spirit depart from inside him. _Human_. He was only human, the moment he hit the ground. Heaven’s light warmth was gone. It left him feeling cold inside; like his blood had turned to ice water. A fog took hold of his mind, like there were things he was forgetting—the feeling of angelic sight leaving him. He'd loved these things divine. It would be a long road before he ever saw them again.

The wind roared in his ears as he plummeted; he tumbled clumsily through the atmosphere. His wings rippled and smacked him with the force of his own velocity. He flapped them furiously, managing to right himself. Now he was simply falling backwards, sinking faster and faster through the sky’s abyss. His hair licked his temples and obscured his peripheral vision.

He closed his eyes and let himself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to scream at me on tumblr, my username is is-trash-hi ~ヾ(＾∇＾)
> 
> i will (sometimes) post there, but my instagram is.trash.hi is definitely more active
> 
> have a good day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt okay. Not good yet but okay. He was taking his meds regularly, his new job was nice, he was enjoying the cold weather, and he’d managed to stay off the booze. He had to make those things matter. 
> 
> -
> 
> Jeremy works on his art before being disrupted by an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello dearies! this chapter was very fun to write!
> 
> I would just like to say that in this AU, jeremy is not jewish. the heere family isn't jewish in this work of mine.
> 
> no TWs today; happy reading!

Jeremy had ink all over his hands. Long streaks and splotches of black ink smeared thoughtlessly all over his fingers and wrists. As it turns out, you use a hell of a lot of black ink when you're drawing Batman. He’d wash it off in the shower, he decided. Later. He hadn't had one in a couple days, and he knew he should get around to it eventually. He brushed a curly strand of brown hair out of his face, sipped his coffee, and kept working his pen over the wrinkled art paper.

He felt okay. Not good yet but okay. He was taking his meds regularly, his new job was nice, he was enjoying the cold weather, and he’d managed to stay off the booze. He had to make those things matter.

He tried not to think of the months preceding this one. The memories camped at his bedside and dared him to revisit them. They called out to him in the night, creeping through the walls and grasping at the edges of his skull.

He recalled a hospital bed with his family crowded around it. An accursed IV needle had penetrated his skin and set his nerves off like firecrackers. Sitting in a sad white room with the machines and doctors and unfriendly noises. He constantly thought, _I’m alive and it isn't fair._

It’d been raining like hell when he woke up from the darkest sleep he'd ever known. Thunder and lightning raced across the sky and the heavens opened in torrents of water. _Like angels were weeping_ , his mother had said.

He barely contained his scoff at the notion. Maybe his family cried for him, but there couldn't have been anyone up there who gave half a shit about him. Why should God care about him? He didn't go to church anymore, hardly ever prayed… Wasn't even sure anyone was there to hear him.

He was probably hell-bound after a suicide attempt anyway. What he'd done to Rich… If that wasn't a sin he didn't know what was. He'd be making it up to him for the rest of his life and it still wouldn't be enough to take that pain from his best friend’s face. He'd been a fool do something like that to him.

Telling him he thought he'd be better off without him. Rich’s haunted voice in his ears, “You're my only friend that actually gives a shit, don't you dare think I don’t love you.”

He shook it all out of his head, his hair falling into his eyes and tickling his nose. He couldn't think about it too much. He was alive and the hard part was over now, he supposed.

As soon as he was satiated with the dark lines of Batman’s cape, he forced himself to shower. He probably smelled like a jar of pickles, he thought, laughing at himself. A jar of pickles that had been left open in the sun for an hour or two at best.

He turned the water on as hot as it would go, watching the room fill with steam. He scrubbed from his fingers to his wrists with a washcloth. He frowned at his arms; filthy with the scarred remnants of his high school sentence. Raised lines of pink and white stayed from many past attempts to escape the drumming pain in his head. As he finished rinsing the soap out of his hair and dried himself off, he wondered if he'd ever feel clean again.

It didn't matter how much he despised himself, how alone he felt, how bad the ringing in his ears got; he’d promised Rich he'd stay alive. He’d promised him he’d do better.

“ _If you wouldn't do it to me, don't do it to yourself_.”

Jeremy didn't break promises. At least, not to Rich.

He needed more coffee. He loved the way the bitter liquid felt on his tongue. Loved the smell and the feeling of caffeine flowing in his veins. He didn't wait to finish dressing to brew it but rubbed the towel across his head as he walked. He tossed the used towel onto the kitchen table, pulled his Iggy Pop shirt over his head, and measured out grounds of dark coffee. Trails of water dribbled down his neck, leaving wet spots on his clothes..

He yawned as the black substance trickled through the machine into the pot. He gave thought to what art project he'd tackle next. He had an entire weekend left to pursue it. He had to stay preoccupied to keep his mind off of his demons. At least, until—

_CRASH!_

“What the hell?” Jeremy shouted, startling himself further.

He peered out the window as his ground-floor apartment shook. He didn't see anything suspicious at first. He'd heard an awful crackling noise, like tree branches snapping. He ran a hundred scenarios through his head. A plane had fallen from the sky? No, it wasn't _that_ loud, Jesus, Jeremy, paranoid much? Lightning had struck one of the trees behind his apartment? But there'd been no flash of light. He didn't know what happened but he felt the need to find out. He slipped his shoes on and stepped out the back door.

Jeremy Heere always felt like he'd lived a strange life. But he was so wrong before. _Now_ it was strange. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he saw next.

He didn't believe his own mind as he took in the scene. Three or four tree branches lay where they'd been violently broken off. One stabbed straight out of the ground. Leaves were everywhere and the poor tree looked like it’d had a bite taken out of it. That wasn't the odd part.

The unbelievability was the creature writhing on the grass below it; seizing like it was in agony or terror. Both, Jeremy decided. Eyes wide and mouth open; it appeared it was trying to scream, but all that came were gasps and choked groans. The otherworldly feel to the whole scene made his head pitch and spin. Was he dreaming? Or drunk? Surely he wasn't drunk. He'd tried getting high once, but it cost too much, so it wasn't that either. This was happening for real, he was sure.

He wanted to approach it but didn’t know if it was safe. He imagined being struck by one of its viciously flailing wings and shrank back. They had to span at least five feet; shining white except for the areas where they were caked with soil. It was stark naked and undoubtedly male.

Before he knew what he was doing, he spoke to it. “Hey… calm down.”

The creature looked at him, eyes widening further in apparent horror. He seemed to try again to say something but couldn't speak. Jeremy showed him empty hands and shushed softly, attempting to mask his emotions. The rush of adrenaline, fear, confusion, doubt, and sheer awe coursing through his system wouldn't comfort the creature. If anything it would make it worse. He didn't plan the words that fell from his lips.

“Are you an angel?” he whispered, kneeling by his side.

The creature nodded, not breaking eye contact. He just stared up at Jeremy before he looked down and his face ran red. He covered himself with a dirty wing and looked back at him again. He peered into his eyes for what felt like an eternity. Jeremy felt an awed breath leave him as he gazed back. Those eyes were a warm brown, nearly golden, so full of life and soul.

Why was he here? Surely there was a reason. Angels don't just fall from the heavens. He’d never been sure angels even existed, though this was proof if he ever fucking saw it. Suddenly he felt that this creature was his responsibility somehow.

The creature dug his hands into the grass. Soil sank under his nails. His teeth were visibly clenched as tremors racked him.

“Can you understand me?” Jeremy said softly.

The angel nodded but remained silent.

“Okay. Good,” he said. “You should come inside. You're uh… You’re kind of naked.”

The angel’s face flushed furiously bright fuschia when he said it. Jeremy felt a rush of pity for him.

“Can you stand up?”

The angel nodded once more, trying to lift himself to his feet. He faltered and Jeremy caught his arm under his shoulder to support him. He was _tall_ , Jeremy realized as he helped him to his feet. Easily five inches taller than Jeremy. He kept both wings wrapped around himself, starkly abashed at his own nakedness. Jeremy did his best to keep his gaze at eye level.

He sat him down at the table, and said, “I'm going to get you some clothes now, okay? I don't know how we'd get, uh, a shirt on you, but I'm sure I've got some pants you can wear…”

Frantically, he searched his dresser drawer for the longest pants he had. He pulled out a pair of blue jeans and black boxers and draped them across his forearm. He slowly filled his lungs. He needed to stay calm. Incidentally, that wasn't easy when you had a fucking _supernatural being_ crash land in your backyard on an otherwise average day.

The angel’s gaze was blank when he returned; staring off into the stratosphere with haunted eyes.

“These, um,” Jeremy said. “They're the longest ones I have. You're so damn tall but they should hopefully fit you. Are you okay on your feet? I mean, you probably don't want me to watch…”

The little creature wordlessly took the items from him and set to putting them on as Jeremy turned away. He nodded in a seeming gratitude when Jeremy looked at him again, now at least having the essential parts clothed.

Jeremy reached for the damp towel on the table and showed it to him for consent. The angel tipped his head in apparent agreement. He stared off into the middle distance as Jeremy brought the towel to his wings. He flinched at every touch either with fear or pain but still didn't speak.

“Does anything hurt?” Jeremy implored.

A soft, shuddering whimper fell from the angel’s lips and he said, “ _Everything._ ”

A tear fell gently from his face and Jeremy felt his stomach plummet. He knew nothing of this creature but his heart ached for him.

“Can I help?” he asked softly.

The angel just shrugged. Jeremy kept easing the dirt off his wings, walking around behind him to get him clean.

“These are beautiful,” he breathed thoughtlessly. His voice dripped with awe.

The angel’s wings shuddered against his hands; soft feathers kissing the tips of his fingers as he choked out a sob.

Jeremy had never heard a more pitiful sound as the creature cried, “They won't last.”

Once he’d gotten the last of the grime, Jeremy took one more stunned breath at the sparkling white feathers. There was a seamless join between the wings and the angel’s shoulder blades; feathered appendages vanishing into his back. What the hell was he doing here?

The creature turned to face him. His face was soaked with silent tears. Dark hair fell across his forehead in contrast to his caramel skin. His chocolate eyes were filled to the brim with tears as he reached out a hand to touch Jeremy’s face.

“ _Jeremy_ ,” he sighed, sending a chill through his bones.

At first, he wondered how he knew his name but the thought was replaced with _of fucking course_ he knew. Before he processed what was happening the angel had wrapped his arms around him and pressed his face tight to his chest. He breathed warmly into his neck. Jeremy didn't move, didn't push him away, just stood in confusion. He let his arms fall around him; his hand resting at the back of his neck.

The angel's body was racked with sobs, trembling against him. He just kept saying, “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, Jeremy,” over and over again like the words to a prayer.

“It’s okay,” he kept saying in an attempt to console him.

He didn't know if it was okay. He didn't know how this creature had fallen to earth, or why. He knew he was here for a reason, whatever that might be. That was all he knew.

It was a long time before the angel spoke again. Jeremy would try ask him questions but he would just stare silently into his eyes. He sat for hours and hours, wordless. There were tears too; torrents of soundless tears. His entire body tensed as Jeremy wrapped a blanket around his folded wings.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You look like you're freezing.”

He rested the fabric over his shoulders. Jeremy sat beside him at the table the entire night. The angel never even closed his eyes. He didn't push him, but he wanted the broken little creature to know he wasn't alone. He knew loneliness far too intimately.

He kept getting up to pour more coffee and when the sun rose, he set a cup in front of the angel. To his surprise, the creature wrapped his hands around the cup and brought it to his face. His expression didn't change but he did drink it, cradling the mug in his palms like a treasure.

Jeremy had so many questions. So many concerns. Did he need to eat? Or sleep? Was he injured somehow? Clearly he knew and understood English, which Jeremy supposed made sense. Angels probably knew a hell of a lot of things. Most of all, he wondered why he was here. Had he done something wrong to be thrown down from heaven? Or was he here for a _reason_? Was he here for Jeremy?

With every possible answer, there was merely another question. He didn't have the first clue what to do or think. He'd have to be patient, he supposed.

Most of all, he wanted to understand why he felt so connected to him. He felt responsible for him, sure… But there was something strangely familiar about his presence. Like he knew exactly who he was but couldn't put his finger on it. The creature seemed to be gazing straight into his soul whenever he met his eyes. Patience, he told himself again. He hoped he'd say or do something when he was ready.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The impact rattled him to his core. He must have hit a tree, because he heard a god-awful snap, and then there were leaves; a flurry of green rustling around his head. The world spun around and around in blurred shades of sky, foliage, and dirt. There was the ground, cold and damp. He felt grass and cold soil beneath his palms. Where the hell was he?
> 
> -
> 
> Michael reflects on his fall and has a conversation with Jeremy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoy michael’s point of view from the last chapter! hopefully this clears up a few questions any of you guys have (´▽｀;)ゝ
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

The impact rattled him to his core. He must have hit a tree, because he heard a god-awful snap, and then there were leaves; a flurry of green rustling around his head. The world spun around and around in blurred shades of sky, foliage, and dirt. There was the ground, cold and damp. He felt grass and cold soil beneath his palms. Where the hell was he?

“Try to land with a little grace,” Saint James had said. Yeah, you first, James.

Everything happened fast. Michael felt afraid, more afraid than he ever had in his life--or his afterlife for that matter. He was so shaken from the fall, and God, he was freezing. The panic had him by throat as he felt the sensation of grass skimming against his spine and ass, and he realized he was naked on top of it all. Of course he was. This was how a fall from grace felt. He was naked, cold, and alone. He was allowed to be scared, right?

Gravity. It'd been a long time since he'd had to deal with quite so much of that, and goddamn his wings were heavy. He kept trying to get to his feet, or to fly, or anything, but nothing worked because the weight managed to jerk him back down. He just flailed around, kicking up a frenzy of dirt and trying to scream. His breath hitched in his throat and his eyes flew open. Jeremy was there. Right there with him, the heat of his breath clouding in the cold.

He gaped at Michael, holding his hands up to show him he meant no harm. Of course he didn't; this was Jeremy. He knew Jeremy better than he knew himself. But the man had never known he'd existed. Until now. He had to be naked, didn't he? He shifted to cover himself. His face ran hot with shame. Embarrassment burned even in his knees.

He couldn't speak at first. Human language was clumsy; easily understood but far more difficult to use, so he responded with gestures instead. He was lost in thought as he let himself be lead inside. He kept his wings wrapped around his waist as Jeremy supported his weight with surprising ease. The jeans he gave him fit well enough but they stopped mid-calf. It didn't really matter as long he was covered, he decided.

He couldn't think straight; he was so dizzy and drenched in self pity. His entire body ached from the impact but the worst pain was behind his ribs, right around where he figured his heart to be. Jeremy cautiously showed him a towel and Michael tipped his head in agreement. He flinched involuntarily as he brought it to his wings to clean them. It felt good as the soft cloth and Jeremy’s steady hands brushed over his feathers.

Michael had always known Jeremy was kind. He'd loved that. He was proud that such a wonderful person had been placed in his arms. But he'd never realized just how kind; how truly gentle Jeremy was. It seemed like a punishment, being with the very man he’d let down. He was here because he'd failed him. He didn't deserve his kindness. He didn't deserve to have the compassion and mercy in his eyes directed at him, or the steady healing touch of his hands.

His resolve shattered as Jeremy asked him softly, “Does anything hurt?”

He heard the word come from his mouth before he decided to say it. “ _Everything._ ”

He was on Earth. He was flawed and mortal. He wasn't in God’s presence anymore. He had to learn to be human again. He'd have to grow old here. He'd die again. Dying was hard enough to do once; twice was impossible. Further, he ached from head to toe. Even the tips of his wings were sore. His heart rested heavily in his chest, pulling him down toward the floor.

“Can I help?” Jeremy asked.

Michael just shrugged. He didn't know. He didn't know what to say, what to do, or how to feel.

He felt Jeremy’s breath on his feathers as he whispered, “These are beautiful,”

His resolve shattered like thin glass. He tried to fight the sob that came but it fought back and escaped his chest. The sorrow held him captive to his own wretched humanity.

“They won't last,” he said.

He didn't know how long they would stay. Losing these was part of his lesson. He'd loved these wings. He'd loved them so much. They remained only as a reminder of all he had yet to lose.

When the silken touch of the towel stopped, he turned to face Jeremy, careful not to hit him with a feathered appendage. He couldn't help himself, he just pressed his hand strong against the man’s face and breathed his name. He was all he had left. He didn’t think as he grabbed onto Jeremy for dear life and let himself fall further into the undertow of his own heart.

Jeremy didn’t push him away. He rested a hand on the back on his neck and kept him close as he let it out. The sobs burned through his chest and throat, wave after wave after wave. He just kept saying he was sorry. He was sorry he’d let Jeremy down. He was sorry he’d let him get hurt so much. He was sorry he was here as a burden now instead of a protection. He couldn’t even protect himself; not in this world. Not like this.

Eventually he gathered himself and peeled his face from Jeremy’s chest. He sniffed and took the same seat he’d had a minute ago. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. Where to go. There was only pain and sorrow.

The hours passed by mercilessly; wordless and stifling. Jeremy paced around at first, fidgeting like he did when he was deep in thought. When the man seemed to calm down, he brought his sketchbook and sat down at the table next to him.

Michael stared at his hands as he worked and lost himself in the motions of Jeremy’s pen. The trails of ebony ink reminded him of getting a tattoo. Hey, he thought, there’s something he can do again here. The recollection of the stinging tattoo needle dragging across his skin gave him a morsel of comfort. The rest of the time, he sat feeling empty.

At one point Michael felt a blanket fall over his naked back. He tensed. Jeremy just reassured him; told him he looked cold. He was cold, he realized, as he felt himself shivering. The frigid tile floor chilled his bare feet. He was physically and emotionally numb.

Jeremy never left his side except to change pens or pour more coffee. Michael felt confused as he placed a cup in front of him. It’d been so long since he’d been human… since he'd needed to eat or drink. He knew he loved coffee before. He still would, right?

Jeremy’s brow arched as Michael wrapped his hands around it and took a drink. It was bitter on his tongue but he liked it. It warmed him from the inside and he smiled, just a tiny bit.

Late into the night Jeremy fell asleep at the table, his head cradled on his hands. He snored softly. Michael never knew he snored. He was so different up close. Michael knew what the man liked, what he hated, how his mind and heart worked, but there was so much he had yet to learn about him, he realized. Loving him from afar was shockingly different from being next to him. The smell of his skin and the sounds of his breath as he stirred in slumber… He didn't know how to process it.

He still didn't speak the next day. Jeremy just went through his day, glancing at Michael every once in awhile, trying to read him but looking still perplexed. He made coffee, scarfed down breakfast, listened to his headphones, read a book, and sketched. Just like he did every weekend. Still, he barely let him out of his sight, hovering around in case he should move or speak.

It was ten o’clock that night when Michael’s tears finally ran dry. He chose to break the silence. He couldn’t stay quiet forever. Jeremy was a curious being; keeping him in the dark wasn't fair.

He smoothed his hands over the wood of the table, feeling the hard surface, groping for anything to ground him in the physical world.

“My name’s Michael,” he said tersely. “Michael Mell.”

Jeremy snapped to attention as he said it, and nodded slowly. “It's uh, nice to meet you, Michael. I'm Jeremy Heere… But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Michael tipped his head. “Yeah. I know you.”

Jeremy let out a puff of air and said, “Okay then. Are you uh… Can you tell me why you're here?”

He began to stammer anxiously, shifting his weight around in his seat.

“I mean—if you know, or you're a-allowed to tell me or if there's a reason you're here or is this an accident or—“

Michael laughed a little. “Relax,” he said. “I haven't come for your soul or anything. I'm, uh… It’s my fault I'm here.”

He fidgeted more, leaning forward. Michael could almost laugh; Jeremy was so fucking eager. He supposed the initial freakout must have ended hours ago because Jeremy only looked curious now as he peered into his eyes. He seemed to be searching his face for meaning and answers. Like somehow if he listened close enough Michael would reveal the secret workings of the universe to him.

Michael sighed. “I made a mistake. I had a job, and I failed to do it. I failed, and my punishment is being human again.”

“Again?” Jeremy implored. His mouth curved to one side.

“Yeah, again. I died, spent some time living it up in heaven, and got an assignment. A special privilege. I fucked it up and God gave me the boot.”

Jeremy rubbed his hands over his face. “That’s… wow.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

There was an awkward silence and Michael chuckled darkly. “You have questions, right?”

“God, tons,” Jeremy said emphatically. He pressed both hands over his face and looked at him again.

“Okay. Ask me. I just fell from grace and landed in your backyard, so… I guess I owe you some answers and I don't exactly have a lot left to lose. Just don’t…” Michael sat forward to meet his eyes. He grasped for the right words. “Don’t treat me like I'm some celestial being that you have to honor or whatever. I was born in New Jersey, just like you. I'm human. At least… soon as my wings go.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said quietly.

Michael could see the mechanisms of his mind turning behind his eyes.

“Fire at will,” Michael said willingly.

“You have tattoos,” was the first thing to pop out of Jeremy’s mouth. “I didn't know angels could have tattoos.”

Michael smiled. He couldn't help it. Jeremy amazed him; an angel fell into his arms and the first thing he wanted to know was how he had tattoos. He was adorable.

“I got them when I was human the first time around. God didn't want to take them from me. It’s a part of me, etched on my soul.”

“Damn, that's awesome,” Jeremy said. “Oh man, and you cuss! How's that work? Isn't God supposed to be like, super chaste or whatever?”

Michael snickered. “Nah, she's got a filthy mouth sometimes herself. Man was made in God’s image, after all.”

Jeremy’s eyes bugged out of his head. “ _She?_ God is a woman?”

Michael chuckled and said, “God becomes different things for different people. For me… A soft-spoken black woman. Some people might feel better talking to the crusty white dude people always imagine, I guess. Not me.”

Jeremy shook his head in bewilderment. “Man… People have it all wrong, don't they?”

Michael smiled. “Yeah. Yeah they do.”

“So what happens to you now?”

“I dunno. Wait ‘till my wings fall off… Get a job, maybe. Find somewhere to live, someone to be.”

“You're gonna think I’m crazy...” Jeremy trailed off.

Michael quirked an eyebrow and he continued. “But you could stay here with me. I’ve got room and I mean, you’re all alone, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I don’t have anybody here, really.”

“I’ve got Rich, my best friend. But that’s about it.”

“Rich’s a great guy,” Michael said before he could catch himself.

Jeremy’s brow creased and he shrugged it off.

“How come you want me to stay?” Michael asked.

Jeremy was quiet a moment, his lips pursed. “If I fell from the sky, I think I’d want someone to stay with. And… I’m lonely being here by myself all the time.”

Michael should have known that, he thought. Jeremy had been too alone for too long.

“Okay. I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” he said, holding his gaze.

Jeremy smiled. “Well, there’s some scripture about entertaining angels, right?”

Michael snickered again and shook his head. “Yeah… that’s more _unknowingly_ entertaining angels. Being kind to everyone. But you’re doing alright.”

“Good to know,” Jeremy said. “Well… it's nice to know you, Michael.”

“It’s nice to know you too, Jer.”

Maybe he didn't deserve Jeremy, but he didn't love him any less.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime after midnight Jeremy and Michael convinced each other to sleep. He was tired as all hell. His brain felt fried; like it had somehow been shoved into a light fixture without him taking note of it.
> 
> -
> 
> Jeremy goes to work and Rich finds out about Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very sorry everyone for the lack of an update on wednesday, but I don't think I can keep up with the uploading schedule. life is crazy, and I need more time to actually produce good chapters i'm content with. so I will be reducing my schedule to updates every saturday. again, i'm so sorry! (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Sometime after midnight Jeremy and Michael convinced each other to sleep. He was tired as all hell. His brain felt fried; like it had somehow been shoved into a light fixture without him taking note of it.

He got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and caught a view of Michael sleeping hard on the sofa; laying on his stomach, wings sprawled and arms curled around a pillow. He looked tense with eyes squeezed tight, fists balled, knees curled close to his body, and jaw clenched. He breathed harshly and his face twitched in his sleep like he was having a nightmare.

Jeremy took a moment to wonder what one had to do to be thrown out of heaven. Did he even want to know? He couldn't picture such a sweet thing like Michael doing anything very awful. He seemed so innocent. Michael stirred a little and Jeremy shook the thought from his head. It must have hurt because Michael hadn't given him the reason for his sentence.

* * *

Jeremy slept the rest of the night, albeit fitfully, and woke up a little before seven. Michael was sitting at the table again, staring blankly out the window. His eyelashes were dark with tears. Jeremy coughed softly so he wouldn't startle him with his sudden presence; recalling times he witnessed Rich all but leap from his skin in a rush of adrenaline. He was light on his feet and tended to creep up on people without meaning to. He was like a phantom of sorts.

Michael rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and said, “Good morning, Miah.”

“Good morning, Mikey.” he replied setting immediately to making coffee. “Hey, do you uh… do you eat?”

Michael’s gaze snapped up, eyebrows knitted together and his lips flattened.

“I don't know. I mean… I guess. Probably.” A moment later he revised his own statement with, “Yeah, you know what, I'm fucking starving.”

Jeremy smiled and said, “Well I've got eggs in the fridge I can make. You eat eggs?”

“Eggs are awesome,” Michael said with a little half grin.

“It’s been awhile since you've had to worry about it I guess.”

“Yeah… I'm just trying to remember who I used to be. I remember being a huge fucking nerd though…”

“Well, there's a start.” Jeremy said good naturedly, not turning away from the stove as he jabbed at the mess of scrambled eggs with a plastic spatula.

Michael’s eyes rolled back in his head with fulfillment as he ate and Jeremy gave him coffee too. He grinned at the cute little sounds he made with his lips to the steaming mug.

“You seemed to enjoy that last night and I'm never short on it,” Jeremy said, gesturing to the coffee in his hands.

“It’s great,” Michael breathed.

They ate together in oddly comfortable silence. When they finished breakfast, another question fell from Jeremy’s head.

“How old are you, anyway?”

Michael took a moment and said, “Twenty-five. When I died.”

Jeremy felt the hair on his arms bristle. It was the first time it had really sank in that Michael had died before. How hard must that have been?

“But what about… After that?”

“I don't know. As angels go, pretty damn young I guess. Time works way, way differently up there though. Barely exists.”

Jeremy nodded, chewing on it. That meant that in a way, Michael was also in his twenties, albeit two years older. The concept felt odd in his head. Weren't angels supposed to be ageless, ethereal creatures? Michael was so human. Relatable, flawed, even fractured. Tattooed, unkempt and somehow intangibly damaged in a way Jeremy hadn’t yet figured out.

A few minutes later he pulled his phone out. “I'm gonna call work and tell them I can't come in today.”

“Why?”

Jeremy said, “Because there’s a guy in my house that fell from the sky. I'll say I've got a stomach bug or something and get my shift covered.”

“No, go to work. I'll be fine. I'll just sleep and stuff.”

“It'll be fine, Michael-”

“No,” he said firmly. “Go to work, and don't think I don't know you need this job. I'll be fine when you get back, man.”

“You're sure?”

Michael nodded and said, “Get going before you’re late.”

“Okay,” he said. “I don't have much in the way of food, but help yourself to whatever is there. I'll get a few things on the way home.”

And so he left the apartment, looking over his shoulder to double check that Michael was really okay. It made him nervous, thinking of him rattling around the apartment all alone.

* * *

Normal life felt strange after something really, truly weird happened to you, Jeremy found.

It all felt distant and dull now. There was solace in the routine of his job at the coffee house but he couldn't stay focused for long. He knew there was something bigger than him and so much left he didn't understand. He felt like he should be freaking out more but it just seemed like a little bit of a miracle or something. An angel falls from the sky and lands in your very own backyard, you tend to see life a little differently.

The day bustled on through the hours. Espresso machines hissed, bean grinders screeched, people chatted, laughed and carried on, and the glass door clacked against its frame as customers came and went. He blended into his environment silently. He felt like a ghost in a fog; untouched and unseen.

He felt so peculiarly comfortable with Michael, like he'd known him his whole life. The guy seemed to understand him, details about his life and everything. He wondered how much Michael really knew about him and why. What was ever really special about him?

* * *

He folded his apron neatly as he walked to his car. He had a little cash left from last week’s paycheck, so he was going to pick a few things up for Michael. Poor guy didn't have anything except for a set of wings that apparently wouldn't even last.

He wandered through the supermarket, fidgeting. He hated grocery shopping because it spiked his anxiety. He grabbed things as he thought of them; a toothbrush, a comb, shampoo, deodorant, socks, and a pair of jeans that looked like they might fit Michael better.

He supposed it would be pointless to try and buy Michael much in the way of clothes right now, because he didn't know what would fit or what he'd like. There was no way he’d be able to wear a shirt without a lot of modifications made to it. There weren't exactly wardrobe options with fucking angels in mind. He could take him later, he decided, so he’d just get the jeans this time.

He spent the rest of the time getting food; frozen waffles, cereal, almond milk for Michael, soup, brown rice, vegetables, and the like. When he was finally home, Michael insisted on helping him put groceries away.

He found the angel sitting on the couch with his legs crossed. The evening news was on; set to a soft volume. The cramped apartment felt warmer to come home to when it wasn't void of all companionship.

He noticed details that had been changed too. Dishes had been washed and stacked neatly. A broom had been moved from beside the fridge to the corner of the kitchen as evidence that he'd swept. The crooked photos in the hallway were all symmetrical now. It was pleasing to see, even though Jeremy felt strange knowing his perfect stranger had cleaned his apartment for him.

Jeremy handed him the bag of things he'd gotten for him and Michael peered inside questioningly. His eyes sparkled a little as he pulled the blue toothbrush out and stared at it.

“You got this stuff for me?” he said reverently.

“Yeah, of course. You need it.”

“You didn't have to,” Michael whispered.

Jeremy wanted to argue that yes he did because Christ, the guy needed help. Someone had to take care of him and nobody else was here to do it.

To spare Michael’s dignity he said instead, “Well I wanted to. You're starting from scratch and I'd like to help you out. We all need an extra hand to get us to our feet sometimes.”

Michael nodded solemnly. He couldn't read his expression but he could tell he was grateful. The angel started asking him questions about work and how his day was, and Jeremy told him about the interesting side of all the people he’d seen come through the coffee house that day.

A new thought dawned on him: that he couldn't keep Michael a complete secret. He had to tell Rich. Rich would handle it well for sure. He'd found Jeremy with worse things than a fallen angel before; things he didn't want to think about ever again.

“Can I tell Rich?” he asked. “Nobody else has to find out. It's just… He’s my best and pretty much only friend.”

Michael froze and said reluctantly, “Yeah, I guess he’ll meet me eventually. No point lying about what I am.”

Jeremy nodded and called his friend.

“You just _called_ me,” Rich said upon answering.

“Uh, obviously.”

“Jer, you haven't actually called me in ages. You text. It’s all we do.”

“Stop shitting a brick, I need you to come over.”

“Something wrong?” Rich asked, his tone changing to one of concern.

“Not-not exactly?”

Michael’s brow creased and he rested his cheek on his fist. He looked half amused, half anxious.

“Jeremy, what's going on?” Rich’s tone was exasperated.

“There's an angel in my apartment,” he blurted out, his voice quiet.

Michael then lost it, sputtering and rocking back and forth with unsuppressed laughter.

Rich snorted and said, “God, you can be so dramatic. That's um, that's great Jeremy.”

“No I don't mean—ugh. I don't have a boyfriend over—just, get over here.”

“Whatever, I'll be there in twenty, you weirdo.”

Michael was still laughing when he hung up.

“You just spat it out!” he shrieked. “And he thought you were being a goddamn schoolgirl!”

Jeremy felt his face run hot and he shook his head.

“What was I supposed to say? It just slipped out!”

“It’s fine… But fuck, it’s hilarious!”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

And Jeremy let himself laugh at his own miscommunication.

Typical to his behavior, Rich was over in exactly seventeen minutes. He didn't knock but unlocked the door with his key. Jeremy realized he should have thought of that beforehand, because Michael happened to be standing in the middle of the living room letting his wings stretch out to their full length at that exact moment.

Rich jumped back against the closed door, and shouted, “What the fuck?!”

Michael shrank back too, folding in on himself to look smaller than he already was, save for the five and a half foot wingspan.

Jeremy put his hand on Michael’s bare shoulder to try and ease him, to no avail. He felt him tremble beneath his palm.

“Relax, he won't hurt you. It's just Rich, it’s okay,” he reminded him.

Michael nodded a little, meeting the other man’s bewildered eyes.

“You're freaking him out, calm the fuck down,” Jeremy said.

“ _I’m_ freaking him _out_?”

“I was trying to tell you but what was I supposed to say?”

Rich looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said. “Uh ‘hey, there’s a half naked mutant guy with wings in my apartment.’ Something along those lines. Jesus fuck, Jer.”

Jeremy nudged Michael to sit down on the couch and Rich took a seat as well.

“Well… What is he? Where'd he come from? Why’s he here?”

“Slow down, man. He fell out of the sky and landed in my backyard and I still didn't freak out as much as you.”

“Cuz you’re just that weird,” Rich said. “But like… He _fell_ , out of the _sky_?”

Jeremy sighed. “Look, you can't just talk like he isn't sitting right here. He’s uh, he’s nice.”

Rich looked at Michael and finally said, “I’m Rich.”

“I know,” he said. “I'm Michael.”

Rich shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Okay. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

Michael smiled and rubbed his hand over his face. “Like I told Jeremy, I died once, spent some time in heaven, made a mistake and God had me thrown down here to be human all over again so I'd learn my lesson.”

Hell of a way to sum it up, Jeremy thought with some heavy handed amusement.

“Jesus Christ,” Rich breathed.

“Yeah, nice guy,” Michael smirked. “You'd like him.”

Rich just sat staring in quiet disbelief.

“He says his wings won't last,” Jeremy said softly. “He doesn't have anyone or anything, so I told him he could stay with me. You know, since he kinda landed here to begin with. My mom used to say everything happens for a reason.”

“Bethany was mostly right about that,” Michael interjected. His eyes were blank as though he were far away in his mind. “It doesn’t always go that way… Some things just happen. Some things happen that aren't supposed to. But most things are.”

“Damn,” Rich breathed. “This guy knows shit.”

“He spent time with God, Rich. He probably knows more than we’re even meant to.”

Rich shook his head in disbelief and said, “So what now? He’s just gonna stay here forever?”

“I mean… if he wants to. It’s better than being alone here all the time. He's not half bad company.”

Rich nodded, staying quiet awhile longer.

“I'm sorry I freaked you out,” Rich said. He smiled a little and added, “I'm not gonna get smited or anything, right?”

“Nah,” Michael said. “I get it. Also I wouldn't worry too much about that happening to you.”

“Great. I'll scratch off my list of things to stress about.”

Michael laughed. “I like you, Rich Goranski.”

“Yeah… I uh, I think I like you too.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two days soon turned into two weeks. Michael’s wings remained; sparkling white and broad. He had a habit of flapping them back and forth experimentally, resulting in an odd sort of whoosh-snap sound as they parted the air and the feathers rustled against one another. Jeremy wondered how long it would be before he lost them and worried for the day it would happen. He didn't dare to imagine how it must feel knowing they could go any day. 
> 
> -
> 
> Jeremy and Michael watch the Dawn of the Dead remake together.

The two days soon turned into two weeks. Michael’s wings remained; sparkling white and broad. He had a habit of flapping them back and forth experimentally, resulting in an odd sort of whoosh-snap sound as they parted the air and the feathers rustled against one another. Jeremy wondered how long it would be before he lost them and worried for the day it would happen. He didn't dare to imagine how it must feel knowing they could go any day.

“I kinda wish they'd just leave already,” Michael grumbled, leaning against the wall. “I hate being stuck here all the time. I can't get a job or anything. I'm going out of my fucking mind.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said sympathetically. Being a shut-in could drive you crazy after long enough. “You wanna watch the Dawn Of The Dead remake?”

Jeremy had been hesitant to show him horror movies at first—worried that maybe he’d have some kind of angelic sensitivities or whatever—but Michael managed to surprise him by already knowing most of the really classic films and loving the newer ones. He'd chatter and shout at the TV at crucial moments.

“Sure,” he sighed, dropping onto the sofa.

* * *

Jeremy sat next to him. Soft feathers brushed his arm as the angel shifted his weight. A chill ran through him and he thought of easing closer to absorb some of Michael’s emanating body heat. No sooner than the thought arrived he rejected it.

There was an alluring quality to Michael’s wings; artistic and straight out of a film or something. They were so white they made his skin stand out and his hair dark as charcoal.

His most prominent tattoo had to be the Pacman tattoo resting on his forearm. At first, it appeared tacky but Jeremy liked it more each time he looked at it. More dark patterns crossed his hands, running all the way up his fingers and blending into the designs across his arms.

“How come you have ‘Halloween’ tattooed on your hands?” he mused aloud.

“Hmm?” Michael said. “Oh, it’s my birthday. My mom used to joke I was headed straight for hell ‘cause I was born on October 31st.” He folded his fingers together and said, “and if you look this way, it says ‘bookworm’.”

“Shit, that's cool.”

Michael snickered. “You're so easy, you whore.”

Jeremy threw his head back laughing.

“You know what's nice?” Michael hummed after the joke died down. “You treat me really normal most of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… I dunno, I feel like a lot of people would still be freaking out like I'm an abomination. Or worse, a miracle. But you just treat me like a normal dude half the time. Like I'm just some roommate you picked off the street. I'm trying to be human again and you make it… easier I guess.”

Jeremy nodded slowly. “You’re not half bad. I'm glad you landed in my backyard and not somebody else's, for what it's worth.”

“Me too, man.” And then he hissed “Oh shit,” to the TV. “This one’s way more hardcore than the old one. Maybe not better, but man, that’s a lot of blood.” He laughed in a high cadence. “Fucking fast zombies. None of us would survive this one.”

“Nah, I’d be the first to go,” Jeremy said.

“I feel like Rich’d be good in a zombie apocalypse. He might make it. I sure as hell wouldn't, my immune system is so shitty I'd probably catch the virus from the _air_ or something. One whiff of zombie breath and I'm devouring flesh twenty minutes later.”

“Great, now I have to worry about you eating my brain?”

“Damn right. Zombie Me is coming for yours first, Jer.”

“Remind me to buy a baseball bat and put nails in it later, so I've at least got a half a chance against Zombie You.”

Michael was the best person in the world to watch movies with, he soon realized. He was easily excitable and had a pleasing, high pitched sort of laugh. These factors combined with a gory sense of humor; he was fabulously fun to be around. The kind of guy that could make you forget the world sometimes and wonder instead if zombies could swim.

“Nah man, I think those motherfuckers just swell up like corpses and float. Zombie buoys, bitch.”

“Oh noooo,” Jeremy groaned at the mental image, laughing. “I'm scarred for life.”

They watched the film awhile more before Jeremy said, “We should get you some more pants and stuff, you know.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “You don't need to get everything for me. You and Rich already got me my own phone and, I mean--”

“I want to. I’m not gonna go broke getting stuff you need.”

He'd already tried to offer to get Michael a bed or at least a cot, but he wouldn't let him. He insisted he liked the sofa.

“Okay,” Michael sighed awkwardly. “And… thank you.”

“Yeah, it's no problem, I swear. You've been wearing the same pants, and hell, underwear, for over a week.”

“Yeah, well I've washed ‘em a few times, fuck you very much,” Michael smirked.

“When?”

“When you're at work, dummy.”

Jeremy felt his face run hot as he imagined Michael walking around their apartment stark naked. It was picturesque in his mind, he had to admit. Michael’s shimmery wings hovering above his naked ass, all of his tattoos bared… The thought felt treacherous somehow.

It was tough shopping for Michael, because he felt strange clothes shopping for another guy. He'd gotten him a pair of shoes but they'd still been too big and in all honestly didn't suit him anyways. Michael would probably like to pick his own wardrobe and try things on.

In that moment, Jeremy had a sudden and very good (or very bad) idea.

“You remember Angel from X-Men?” he said, chewing his lip.

“Uh… yeah.” Michael looked at him, clearly perplexed with a what-the-actual-hell-does-this-have-to-do-with-anything kind of expression.

“What if we could keep your wings strapped down like they did with him? Then you could come with me and pick your own stuff,” said Jeremy.

“I don't-how? I don't follow.”

“Erm-well... I've got a couple extra belts. Maybe you could tuck ‘em close and we could strap them around your chest?”

Michael chewed on the thought and said, “It could work. Worth a try I guess.”

“Okay. Stand up and I’ll go get them.”

He retrieved the two leather belts and hesitantly reached around Michael’s chest.

“You don't have to be so careful. You can touch them, it's fine,” Michael said, meeting his eyes. “They don't hurt or anything. You aren't gonna break ‘em.”

Jeremy nodded, holding his gaze a moment. Michael pulled his wings close to his body and Jeremy placed his hand on one as he put the first belt around. He felt his thumb brisk against smooth, brown skin and repressed a shiver.

He cursed as the belt proved not to have enough holes punched in it. He measured the span with his finger and went to the kitchen to carve another hole with a steak knife.

“Hold still,” he told Michael softly. He took a deep breath while he secured the belt around his chest.

“Kinky,” Michael smirked at the black leather.

The joke earned a laughing snort from Jeremy, sputtering and wheezing.

“Some angel you are,” he giggled. “It seems secure so far. How’s it feel?”

“It's pretty tight but it’s not bad. I can function, I think.”

“Okay. No pain?”

Michael shook his head.

“Next one?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Jeremy strapped the second belt tightly around his waist and took a step back. “Can you move around okay? It's not too uncomfortable?”

“No I think it's fine.”

It was fine for a moment, at least. Then Michael let out the world’s most comical yelp as the top belt slipped and managed to pinch his right nipple pretty fiercely. In a comic book, a bubble would have appeared over his head blaring “ _Ai-eeeeeeeeee_ ” in all caps.

“Oh shit,” Jeremy said, repressing a laugh at the redness and crinkled expression Michael had. He fixed the belt carefully and Michael sighed with relief before finally bursting into laughter.

“Not my vibe,” he snickered. “Nipple play? Sure. Nipple _pain_? I'll pass.”

Jeremy laughed and nodded. He helped Michael into a shirt and red hoodie, finding he looked rather attractive in red. It went with his dark hair and made his eyes stand out. Not that those eyes didn't already; they were probably his most prominent feature.

“Guess you finally get to leave the house. Let's go shopping.”

Michael smiled and followed him out the door into the open autumn air.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael hadn't been outside since he’d fallen, Jeremy realized. He all but pressed his face to the window trying to take in every ounce of Jersey scenery as they drove through town. The angel’s eyes darted from one place to another and eventually fixed on the clouded skies, peering toward the heavens with an expression of conjoined sorrow and wonderment.
> 
> -
> 
> Jeremy and Michael go shopping and have a heart-to-heart under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! this chapter was extremely fun to write, and I loved writing michael and jeremy’s bond in this.
> 
> TW: slight description of self harm towards the end. if you are uncomfortable with reading that part, stop reading at “Nothing felt right.” and begin again at “He hurried to get himself dressed”
> 
> happy reading! d=(´▽｀)=b

Michael hadn't been outside since he’d fallen, Jeremy realized. He all but pressed his face to the window trying to take in every ounce of Jersey scenery as they drove through town. The angel’s eyes darted from one place to another and eventually fixed on the clouded skies, peering toward the heavens with an expression of conjoined sorrow and wonderment.

Jeremy kept Michael talking to try and minimize the anxiety he wasn't even trying to hide. Hell, Michael twitched every time there was a noise in the store like he worried he'd be attacked at any given moment. He watched people around them distrustfully; studying their faces in search of any suspicion or malicious intent.

“Thanksgiving is kinda soon,” Jeremy said coolly, trying to busy the man’s mind.

“You hate Thanksgiving,” Michael replied tersely.

He worried his lip between his teeth. It was still alarming, some of the things the angel knew about him. Jeremy wasn't special… Did Michael know these things about everyone? That had to be exhausting. Or was it just a few people? Surely he knew about more people than just the Heere family. None of it made any sense to him.

“Yeah, I guess I do most of the time. How do you feel about it?” Jeremy sighed.

“It's okay. I don't eat turkey, so that kills half the point. It was always nice being with my family though. Not that they're around anymore.”

Jeremy shifted his weight between the balls of his feet and gave the holiday some thought.

“You could come with me. My mom used to love it if I'd bring a friend or… something.” He always brought a significant other to Thanksgiving dinner. He'd have to call his mom ahead of time and beg her to believe him that Michael was just a friend.

A tiny, sweet smile crept across Michael’s face and lit up his brown eyes. “I’d love to.”

* * *

Nine shirts, three pairs of jeans, sets of underwear and socks, combat boots, and a decent coat later they went home.

“You really didn't have to,” Michael said again as they entered the warm apartment.

The air of home enveloped the two of them. Jeremy felt a sense of pride in the way this place had stopped feeling so lonely. It belonged to the both of them now.

“So you keep telling me. It's fine, Mikey.”

Michael winced sharply as he set shopping bags down.

“You okay?” Jeremy asked.

“I think so,” Michael wheezed. “Just been strapped down too long I guess. Can you uh—can you get them off?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, not hesitating to strip the jacket and shirt off of Michael.

He felt his pulse jump and thought _no. Not Michael._ Jeremy unbuckled both belts in turn and gasped as his wings unfurled with a soft thump.

“Ohh that feels better,” Michael groaned borderline orgasmically, closing his eyes and letting his head roll back. “I am going to miss them,” he said.

“They're stunning,” said Jeremy.

Michael smiled and looked at him.

Before Jeremy's mind could respond, Michael had wrapped his arms securely around him.

“Thank you. For all of this,” he breathed. “For being you.”

Jeremy didn't say anything. He just wrapped his own arms around Michael and breathed him in, for all he was. The heady scent of his skin made his head rush. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as Michael wrapped his wings around him. He hoped he couldn't feel the tremble in his pulse.

The angel held him close. The tips of his wings rested tenderly against the backs of his legs. Michael’s wingspan was massive. His feathers were downy and shockingly warm against him, making Jeremy feel truly safe. Here in this intimate scene the rest of the world didn't have to matter because there was only Michael. For just a moment, Jeremy felt peace.

* * *

Michael scrubbed at his skin until it was a furious shade of red. He felt filthy and nothing made it better. Like dirt and grime trapped beneath his skin; no matter how hard he tried he'd never get at it.

The heat against his feathers soothed him. He tipped his head back to let the shower water flow over his face. He was clean physically but his tarnished soul rested heavily within him. Even being sent to hell couldn't have felt as bad as this. _I’d say you're already there in your mind_ , God had said.

Nothing felt right. All Jeremy did was show him kindness and all Michael did was take it. He’d failed to protect him, and now he was here just to burden him down. Even his wings, which were still by all means beautiful, were just glorified dead weight. _Just. Like. Me_ , he thought.

He held his breath as the water cascaded in thick ribbons across his face. His lungs burned but he just kept refusing them air. He wondered if he’d pass out if he did it long enough. God wouldn't let him die before Jeremy. That would just be escaping his sentence. Still, he was curious of how much damage he could inflict on himself. Any pain would be better than what he had festering inside.

He’d screamed when he’d first watched Jeremy dig a razor blade through his own flesh. His chest ached seeing him taking such drastic measures to escape the pain pounding in his head. But now he understood. When the feelings beneath your skin became too much you had to find a way to let them out, even if it meant bleeding.

His stubborn resolve cracked. He turned off the shower and finally filled his lungs with air. They burned deep inside and his head seemed to float toward the ceiling due to oxygen deprivation. Michael shook the wetness from his wings and toweled his hair. He couldn't bear the sight of himself in the mirror so he turned away. He wanted to scream, rage, destroy things, and destroy himself. But he couldn't.

Anything he did now only made him filthier. Anything he did only hurt Jeremy more. This pain was his punishment; the price he paid for the mistakes he’d made. There would be no fighting it and no running from it.

He hurried to get himself dressed (well, okay, half dressed) because his body was screaming for nicotine. He’d smoked before but he’d all but forgotten how much he liked it until Jeremy had offered him a cigarette. Now he was hooked again but it didn't bother him. It was a welcome distraction and it wasn't like it could kill him anymore. Even cancer couldn't catch him.

He treaded lightly around the apartment. He made sure his wings didn't brush across the walls or knock anything over. It was late and he didn't want to wake Jeremy. He fished the mostly-empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket and crept out the back door. Jeremy never minded smoking in the house but Michael enjoyed going outside in the late fall. The contrast of hot smoke in his lungs and cold air on his flesh was borderline euphoric.

He stood for awhile, drawing smoke into his lungs and feeling the chill of the autumn night gnawing at his bare skin. For once he was almost as cold on the surface as he was beneath his flesh. As he fell deeper and deeper into thought he found himself lying down on the frosted grass. He spread his wings beneath him. It felt good to stretch them out. The chilled blades of dewy grass licked at his feathers.

The sky above was clear of enough light pollution that he could see stars; scattered and faded. Like specks of paint on a black canvas. Moonlight reflected off the leaves of the solitary tree he'd mangled in his fall. It was a fractured kind of beauty.

He flinched when heard the door click behind him.

“What are you doing out here, Michael? It's fucking freezing,” Jeremy said gently.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said sitting up. “Just had to get some air and have a smoke I guess. It’s dark so nobody’s gonna see me. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Nah, I was up. Can't sleep worth shit sometimes. Why don't you come inside?”

Michael paused. He told himself no but the question fell off his tongue anyway. “Actually… You wanna lie down too for a little bit? I know I sound nuts but the sky looks good tonight.”

Jeremy pondered it for a moment and said, “Yeah, I’d like to. But you gotta hand over a cigarette.”

Michael put the package and lighter in the other man’s palm and watched as he lit the end. He used a hand to protect the flames from the breeze. The flame flickered back in Jeremy’s light blue eyes and kissed his freckled face with a gentle glow.

Jeremy started to lie down but hesitated as he saw the spread of Michael’s wings over the grass.

“You can lie down on them,” he said softly. “It won't hurt. It’s fucking cold anyway.”

Jeremy eased himself down onto his right wing, inches away from his side. Michael felt the rise and fall of his chest steadily against the hollow bones of his wing. The guilt crawled up from his stomach again. He shouldn't be toying with Jeremy like this but he wanted him close. He wanted to press himself against him and drink in all his warmth. For all he was, he wanted Jeremy. And it was wrong. He had been a guardian angel, hand chosen to watch over Jeremy and protect him. The one thought he kept having was he failed him. He’d let awful things happen to him over the years. Things that added up and never healed. He didn't deserve the man’s friendship; his kindness; let alone his _love_.

“Wow,” Jeremy breathed.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Just… The sky. I dunno, I guess I tend to miss stuff like this most of the time. You get caught up in life. Beautiful things are always there but you miss them.”

“Yeah. It's nice to just look toward heaven sometimes.”

There was a quiet moment before Jeremy said, “Do you miss it?”

“What, heaven?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Almost all the time,” Michael sighed.

“I know I would. Guess I always figured I’d go to hell though.”

Michael scoffed. “You? Trust me, if anyone was to go to heaven, it’d absolutely be you.”

“I don't see how. I’ve done bad stuff, Michael.”

“Just trust me,” he breathed. “I think I'd know.”

“What's it like? Can you tell me?”

“It's just… Easy,” Michael said. “It's like here but better.”

“Describe it to me,” Jeremy pleaded.

“You wake up there and you have wings. They sparkle and float against your back and don't weigh anything. They keep you warm. It looks a lot like earth, except there’s clouds instead of grass. It all just… Shines. You look around and nothing is wrong. Not a single thing.”

“Keep going,” the man said, his voice drenched in hushed awe.

“You’re still yourself but like, the best possible version. You get this feeling like you belong. You feel loved and peaceful. Things almost never hurt. It’s cold up there but you feel so warm inside that it's comfortable,” said Michael.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“I promise you'll see it one day,” Michael whispered.

Jeremy hummed and shifted closer to him. The fabric of his shirt brushed against his bare skin. Michael he wrestled against himself. But Jeremy was warm and gentle. He touched his head against his shoulder and lost himself in the way he felt and smelled.

“Your hair’s still wet,” said Jeremy.

“Oh, sorry.” Michael started to shift away but Jeremy just eased closer.

“It’s not bad. It's cold out here and the rest of you is warm.”

“Perks of having wings: you're a walking blanket for all your friends,” he joked.

Jeremy laughed and after a moment said, “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Sure.”

“How come you know so much about my family? Is it that way with everyone, or just us?”

“Just you, Jer,” Michael murmured.

“I-oh. Why?”

“I just do,” Michael breathed into his neck. He wished he had the guts to tell him who he used to be.

They stayed there awhile, watching the clouds of cigarette smoke rise and dissipate, talking and leaning on each other under the crescent moon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael wasn’t a light sleeper by nature. Waking up each morning was comparable to rising from the dead. But that early morning as Jeremy sipped his coffee and got ready for work, he was roused by a soft knock at the door. 
> 
>  
> 
> -
> 
>  
> 
> Michael loses his wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! this chapter was a toughie to write, but I loved doing it! also, happy easter!!
> 
> TW: some vomiting, crying, and lots and lots and LOTS of blood. i’m afraid you aren’t able to skip out on any of the chapter without missing any crucial information; the process takes up 75% of the chapter. just stay safe <3

Michael wasn’t a light sleeper by nature. Waking up each morning was comparable to rising from the dead. But that early morning as Jeremy sipped his coffee and got ready for work, he was roused by a soft knock at the door. A warm familiarity prodded him to sit up.

“I'll get it,” Jeremy said softly. Deftly, he threw a blanket over Michael’s wings to hide them.

The door opened to a face he knew well. Hands folded over an orange envelope, standing tall yet humble in the doorway, was Jake.

“I’m here for Michael. I brought him something he's gonna need,” he said softly.

Jeremy stepped back, looking impressively confused. “I… okay. Michael?”

Michael stood up from the couch and wondered for a moment if Jake had been thrown down to earth too. He knew better when he studied his face. His eyes shined and his voice was smooth; angelic. He still had the grace of God running deep in him, making his presence warm and unearthly serene.

Jeremy stammered more as Michael gently nudged past him.

“Hi, Jake,” he said.

He felt his eyes grow hot with, fuck, more tears. He didn't think, just wrapped his arms around the large angel and squeezed him tight. Jake returned the embrace, light wings brushing his own heavier ones.

“You keeping your shit together up there?” Michael asked, letting him go.

“Better than you ever did,” Jake teased. “You making it okay down here?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Jeremy uh, takes good care of me. What’d you get sent to walk among men for? Not something that gets done a lot.”

“Gotta give you this,” Ray said simply, putting the orange envelope in his hands. “You won't do too great without it.”

He’d almost forgotten about this, having been lost in the guilt and self pity he’d experienced.

“Knew I’d get it eventually,” Michael said, smiling. “I had no idea you'd be the one to bring it though.”

“Yeah well, I asked to.”

Michael’s eyebrows rose. “You shitting me?”

“Course not. I miss you, man. I check on you from time to time but you know firsthand it's not the same.”

“Thank you,” Michael said softly. “That means a lot to me, Jake.”

“I know it does. Now I've got to get going before someone gets himself in trouble.” Jake knew what Michael wasn't telling Jeremy and he was protecting his secret. Thank you, he thought.

“Yeah,” Michael said grinning. “Yeah, get your ass back up there. And send Saint Mary my love.”

“She knows. But I will anyway.”

And Jake vanished like he'd never set foot on earth in the first place. The warm feeling left with him and all at once Michael was reminded how cold inside he felt, like an empty space in the cavern of his chest. He clicked the door shut and pressed his forehead against it somberly.

Next Jeremy’s hand was on his shoulder, slender fingers just skimming his collarbone.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Michael said, turning to face him. “It’s all good. That was, um, my best friend.”

Shouldn't have said that, he realized. He saw a touch of jealousy flicker in Jeremy’s eyes and watched him brush it away a moment later. Jake may have been his best friend but Jeremy was his everything. He kicked himself for all the things he wasn't strong enough to say.

“His name’s Jake. We uh, worked together up there.”

“That's cool,” Jeremy said stoically. He pointed to the package in his hands. “So, what’s this?”

Michael sat on the couch and opened it. He thumbed through papers and said, “Official documentation. Social security card, driver’s license… stuff I'll need to be able to live safe down here.”

Jeremy looked like he was about to crack up. “So like… a divine severance package.”

Michael scowled. “It doesn’t work like—It, uh…” he sighed, and laughed. “You know what, it pretty much is. A divine severance package. Fuck.”

“That's the best thing I've heard. Like, ever,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “God gave you paperwork.”

“God sure did, fuck you very much,” Michael chuckled. He held up a birth certificate. “It's good paperwork too. ‘Michael George Mell’. I'm 25 years old as of last month.”

“Wow, that's rad,” said Jeremy.

“Yeah it kinda is. Legally, I never died. I was just born a lot later than I actually was.”

“How’s that feel?” Jeremy asked, meeting his eyes.

Michael sat forward, clasping his hands together. “A little bit like a second chance, I suppose.”

* * *

“Oh man, work was crazy today,” Jeremy sighed as he stepped into the apartment. “I mean, you gotta hear about--” he stopped, and felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Where the hell was Michael?

“Michael?” he called.

Nothing. This wasn't right… Michael was always parked on the couch by the door when he came home. But now the living room was vacant and deathly silent; soulless.

 _Relax_ , he told himself. A number of awful scenarios ghosted through his mind but he brushed them away. Then he felt something odd under his foot. Beneath his shoe was a single white feather. He picked it up and ran his thumb across the silken surface thoughtfully.

He let out a puzzled sigh as he took in the sight of the room. Feathers on the couch, on the floor, even on the coffee table. Just a handful, scattered across the living room; all of them long, all of them glimmering white. He cast it aside with his jacket, shoes, and keys.

A trail was now apparent; more feathers leading through the hallway to tell a story of sorrow. He followed it into the bathroom and felt his stomach lurch. He knew this would happen eventually but he never expected it to look anything like this.

Michael leaned forward with his face in the toilet, heaving and groaning as he vomited. Feathers were everywhere now; huge piles of them strewn across the floor, the sink, and even in the bathtub. He recalled the broad, majestic span of Michael’s wings. They had been awe-inspiring. But never again. Now they draped formlessly across his back and sides, wilted and mangled as though they had become softened wax. He recalled the imagery of Icarus with his melted wings. It was like someone had hacked his beautiful wingspan to pieces. Like he'd been beaten without mercy.

The worst part was the blood that seeped down Michael’s back in long trails from their join at his shoulder blades. They had been smeared across the floor in grotesque scarlet splotches. Oozing red stripes of the sticky red liquid stained his skin, rising from within.

“Oh, Mikey,” Jeremy breathed.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, and put his hand on Michael’s head. Michael twitched and leaned weakly into his touch as he smoothed his hair. He moaned softly.

“I didn't know it could be t-this bad.”

He seized and vomited again. “I can't... Can’t stop throwing up. It really fucking  _hurts_ ,” he murmured.

“I know,” Jeremy whispered. “I know. It won't last, I promise.”

“It's too fast, it's all too fast.” Michael lifted his head to look at him with bloodshot eyes. He sounded half delirious; trapped between two worlds that didn't collide very well.

“How long has it been happening?” he asked, kneeling beside him.

The bathroom reeked profusely but he’d had enough hangovers not to be fazed by it.

“I dunno,” Michael spluttered. “An hour? M-Maybe? It was like they just collapsed.” He groaned from deep in his stomach, rasping and desperate. “Like the bones were just—just gone. Like they'd disintegrated or some…something.”

He vomited again, and Jeremy felt him tremble under his hand. Michael’s knuckles were white as he gripped the back of the toilet as though it were a lifeline. He held the front of his hair away from his mouth, and whispered soft words to try and comfort him. Michael took to apologizing incessantly after awhile, though he couldn't understand what he possibly had to be sorry for.

“It's okay,” he kept saying back. “It’s all going to be okay.”

“You're just—you're so, so gentle, Jeremy.” Michael coughed. “I don't know how you're s-so fucking gentle.”

Jeremy shushed him and ran his fingers through his hair, along his neck, and behind his ears. He stroked his skin tenderly in an attempt to let him know he wasn't alone. This pain wouldn't last.

Beads of sweat rose from his fevered skin, making him shiver more. He sat with him, giving reassuring words and gentle touches. The whole world could pass him by and he would still stay on this bathroom floor with Michael to keep him from suffering this alone. He couldn't imagine this sort of pain but he knew plenty of his own.

He kept an eye on his watch through the hours and silently willed this to end soon. Michael would need fluids, a lot of them. He couldn't fathom how he was still vomiting; how he still had anything left to throw up. Eventually it turned to dry heaving, which was almost as awful, as Michael heaved and quaked with agony and exhaustion.

He stared at a dried spatter of blood against the white tile floor. It resided between his feet. More blood even stained his socks.

Deep into the night, Michael said, “You gotta go to bed, Jer.”

“You're out of your mind if you think I'm leaving you like this,” said Jeremy.

“Please?” he whimpered.

“No. Absolutely not,” Jeremy said firmly.

“Y-you've got work,” Michael argued.

“The hell I don't, it's Friday.”

Michael nodded, and sat back on his heels, just a little. He tipped his head back, and whimpered bitterly as more feathers hit the floor. It almost looked peaceful as they fell; floating softly from his back onto the tile. As serene as it seemed, it must have been agonizing, because Michael sobbed and bit down hard on his lip.

The full length of his wings had fallen from his figure and now coated the floor. Only a few remained; bloodstained and ragged. It wasn't long before his nose began to bleed too. It flowed in a crimson stream across his chapped lips.

Jeremy gathered a wad of toilet paper and put it to Michael’s nose. “Tip your head forward, and hold that there, okay?”

Michael did as he was told, thanking Jeremy profusely. His brown eyes were vacant of any emotion; dark and puffy.

“You gotta quit that. I care about you, of course I'm going to help you.”

“I knew it’d be bad, I didn't know it'd be like this,” Michael said. “I had no… I can't….,” he faded back into his own head.

In all his life, he had never seen someone so exhausted. He seemed like he'd just been beaten down into the ground. Like he was clinging to life itself.

“I know. I had no idea either,” Jeremy breathed. “I'd have been home earlier.”

“D-don't,” said Michael. “You don't owe me anything. I don't deserve--”

“Stop it,” Jeremy said sharply. “Don't you dare say that.”

Michael was stone silent, still holding the paper to his bleeding nose. Spots of red sank through it and stained his fingers.

“You've lost so much fluid,” said Jeremy. “I'm going to go get you some water, okay? You gonna be okay for a minute?”

Michael nodded and Jeremy all but sprinted to the kitchen and back. He put the water to Michael’s lips and held his hand as he drank. Not two minutes later, he threw it back up, and Jeremy gave him more in the hope that some of it would be absorbed. Every second was almost too painful to watch as choked moans indicated Michael’s suffering. Time slowed, and Jeremy felt himself growing smaller. He was helpless, watching a reverse miracle of sorts.

The last feather fell at 1:43AM. Michael’s eyes were pink, distant, and tearstained. A blood vessel had burst beside his left iris from the strain.

Exhaustion played Jeremy but he knew it was nothing compared to what the other man was going through.

“It’s over,” Michael breathed, like a euphoria had washed over him as the pain faded. He rocked himself back and forth softly. He head lolled forward limply.

“Yeah. It's over, Mikey. No more, okay?”

Michael hummed distantly with his eyes closed. Even his eyelids were swollen and red. His face retained a pale hue, washing out his macchiato skin. It was like he'd seen all the life drained out of him one piece at a time.

Sobbing ensued as Michael turned himself on his heels to take in the sight of the dried blood and feathers. They encased the entire bathroom in a sea of rusty brown and muddled white.

“Oh God, they're… they're gone. My wings… I lost them.”

“I'm sorry,” Jeremy said, feeling a tear roll across his own cheek. “Just breathe, Mikey. I'll get you cleaned up, okay?”

Michael had no strength left to fight him with. Jeremy wet a washcloth in the sink, and touched it to the dried blood on his back. Droplets of water ghosted down his spine, stained to a rosy hue. Michael slumped against him, pressing his head to his shoulder as the filth was wiped away. He let out soft little gasps as the cloth touched his wounds. A deep gash nestled against each shoulder blade. It was all there was to tell the world of the wings he'd had until now. Jeremy worried he'd lost way too much blood.

He felt an odd hybrid of relief and sorrow for Michael. He could move on with his life now but he would always have scars here to remind him of what he'd lost. He dug through the drawer and found a small first aid kit Rich had forced him to buy months ago.

He treated and bandaged the wounds and touched his hand to Michael’s forehead. The fever had finally broken; leaving behind a soft chill to his skin. He slipped an Advil between his lips and gave him more water as he downed the pill. The dry skin of his mouth felt rough against his thumb.

 _Please don't throw up_ , he pleaded internally.

He was too dehydrated and weak to stand or move much. There wasn't a chance he’d be able to walk tonight. Jeremy wondered if he was strong enough to carry him to the couch. He'd have to be gentle but he wasn’t sure if he could. Michael was fucking tall.

“Gotta get you to bed,” he said softly. “Can you get your arm around my neck?”

He nodded faintly against him. His sweaty hair tickled his skin. Michael clumsily slung his arm across his shoulder. His arm rested solidly there, lifeless and heavy. Jeremy reached under his knees and lower back. He braced himself.

He was heavier than he expected, but Jeremy was able to support him well enough. Michael seemed altogether vacant but nestled his head into his chest. His dark hair was soft against his collarbone. He’d either fallen asleep or passed out from the fatigue.

Feet-first, Jeremy laid him down. He draped a blanket across him and tucked it under his shoulders to secure it. Against his better judgment he pressed a soft kiss onto his forehead. The Jersey night bathed them in darkness and silence.

Michael’s fingers wrapped around his forearm, and he hummed his name under his breath. His face flushed, and he whispered good night in response, along with a promise that things would get better. He wanted him to know he would always be safe here with him. He couldn't explain the invisible bond he felt but he was past caring. It was there; as real and alive as either of them had ever been.

Jeremy smiled, smoothed his hair from his face, and left him to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bathroom looked like a war zone. He sighed and set to cleaning up the carnage. All of these feathers had once been Michael’s wings, he thought sadly. No longer a gorgeous wingspan to inspire. They had been reduced to nothing more than a scattered array of mangled feathers and crusted-over blood.
> 
> -
> 
> Jeremy and Michael deal with the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the short chapter! last weeks chapter was a long one, so I admittedly didn’t have much motivation for this week’s chapter other than bringing up the after affects of last chapter and introducing a new plot point
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

The bathroom looked like a war zone. He sighed and set to cleaning up the carnage. All of these feathers had once been Michael’s wings, he thought sadly. No longer a gorgeous wingspan to inspire. They had been reduced to nothing more than a scattered array of mangled feathers and crusted-over blood.

He could have waited until morning to clean up but he didn't think Michael needed to see it again. If it were him he'd want to turn a blind eye and move on. Just like he had with the last truly awful night he'd had. Don't think about it, he told himself.

It took over an hour to gather the feathers into a garbage bag, wash the blood from the floor and counter, and rinse the dried remains of vomit from the edges of the toilet bowl. The bathroom had filled with the stench of bleach but it was still better. All he could think of was sleep. There was nothing but the singular thought of tired. There was no more capacity in his head for anything else.

He passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. His last thought was hoping Michael would feel better in the morning. The poor guy deserved a clean break.

If this was what a fall from grace looked like, he prayed he'd never have to survive one.

* * *

Michael didn't speak a word the next day. He sat stone-faced, mourning the loss of his wings. Jeremy didn’t know what he could say about the situation that would merit any positive results, so he sat quietly with him again. He didn't know if his presence helped or hurt, but he knew he never trusted himself to be alone when he was upset. Maybe Michael was the same way.

He remained unfazed by the day’s few events but ate and drank when Jeremy prompted him to. The hours fell away with the pages of a book and punk rock over headphones. He kept himself busy, for Michael’s sake, and found himself sketching the memory of him lying shirtless in the grass. Wings in full spread, cigarette between his lips; it was a good image, with a fond memory behind it.

As the sun left New Jersey behind for the night, a random alien movie played on TV. With a few final strokes of an ink pen, the drawing was complete. As Jeremy began to close his sketchbook, Michael inched across the couch and rested his head on his shoulder. His warm breath tickled his neck and flustered him. All at once he felt like he shouldn't have drawn the picture.

“Wow,” Michael said, his voice filled with hushed wonder. “You drew me?”

“I… um… yeah,” Jeremy stammered. “There was a moment where you just looked so serene, you know? You spoke of heaven and the way you looked and sounded was kind of inspiring.”

“I… don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything,” Jeremy said. “I just wanted to draw it.”

“Yeah,” Michael said softly. “I just… damn. You got all my tattoos right and everything.”

Michael touched the Pacman tattoo on his forearm softly. It obviously meant a lot to him.

Jeremy hummed and rested his face on Michael’s shoulder. He hoped he couldn't feel his heart trying to burst in his chest. He prayed he wouldn't note his shaky breathing. They stayed there a moment before he felt the taller man shiver.

“Hey, do you want me to go get you a shirt?” Jeremy said. He kicked himself for not realizing sooner that without wings, Michael could wear them now. Poor guy had to be really damn cold. The heat of his extra appendages had kept him warm before.

“Oh,” Michael said, as though it hadn't occurred to him either. “Would you? That’d be nice.”

Jeremy fetched it for him and sat back down. Michael slipped it over his head.

He hummed, “Shit, that feels good.”

The two sat close on the sofa as Michael took in the details of his portrait. “It's just so amazing,” he said. “You've always been so talented with this stuff.”

There was the pang of realizing again that somehow, Michael knew him before he fell. It was unsettling and almost creepy. In spite of it he also felt understood.

“Guess I finally get to get off my ass and get a job,” Michael said later.

“Yeah?” Jeremy said. “That what you want to do?”

“Mmhmm.” Michael nodded. “I like working.”

“Do you know what kind of job you want?”

“Something low-profile, I guess. Simple. There's a diner pretty close by that looked cool. Waiting tables isn't so bad. I used to do that when I was like, nineteen.”

“Okay,” he said. “We can go first thing in the morning, if you want.”

“Rad.”

A smile played on Michael’s lips as he added, “Hey… can I drive? I do know how, it's just been forever.”

Jeremy laughed. “I don't see why the hell not. God literally gave you a license. Who am I to argue with that shit?”

* * *

The next morning he was sure anything must be possible because Michael was awake before him.

“Got breakfast done,” Michael grinned, well, angelically. The ironic thought made  Jeremy smile.

“Awesome,” Jeremy yawned, still half asleep.

He rubbed his eyes, and felt the warmed porcelain of a coffee mug placed in his hand. He grasped it, staring sleepily into the pitch-black liquid. Ripples crossed the surface as he moved.

Michael set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon down on the table in front of Jeremy. He smiled gratefully. Michael put his own cooking skills to shame, Jeremy found. He always ended up getting the eggs either too runny or too dry. Michael’s were a joyful yellow color with a balanced consistency. He smiled to himself, thinking he'd be worth keeping around for this quality alone.

“Sleep okay?” Michael asked him. He leaned close enough that Jeremy could faintly smell his morning breath, which actually wasn't as bad as some of the guys’ he’d dated in the past. He still had dark circles beneath his eyes but they had faded now. Some of the warm vigor he typically possessed had returned to his face.

“Yeah, you?”

“Pretty damn good actually. I dunno, I think I’m still fucked up from—“ He didn’t look like he wanted to say it. “From the other night.”

Jeremy nodded sympathetically. Everyone had nights they’d rather not remember. But then, it’s the ones that are unclear in your mind that you always pay for most.

“Anyway,” Michael said. “I’m ready whenever you wanna get going. I’ve got all my shit together. There was a wallet in that package, can you believe it?”

“Damn,” Jeremy said. “God thinks of everything.”

Michael let out a high-pitched laugh. “Well, duh.”

Jeremy smiled and flipped him off with his spare hand while he fished a box of cigarettes from his pocket. He slid the package across the table to Michael after he lit up.

They ate, smoked, had no less than three cups of coffee, and eventually made it out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i’ve been incredibly busy these past few weeks and probably will continue to be busy due to school, so I will have to reduce my uploads to whenever I can upload, which may/may not be often. anyways, sorry for the inconvenience, everyone! I love everyone who’s been continuing to support my story and I love everyone’s feedback. 
> 
> love y’all! have a good day (“⌒∇⌒”)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael thought he’d be rusty at driving but no sooner than he turned the ignition did it come back to him. Muscle memory, he supposed. Like riding a bike; you never really forget how. He was soothed by the rush of pavement beneath the vehicle. Buildings and bright trees passed by. His world almost felt okay for a while.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael gets a job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luckily I was able to post this chapter today! yay! (ᗒᗨᗕ) also, what does everyone think of Endgame? i just watched it yesterday! 
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

Michael thought he’d be rusty at driving but no sooner than he turned the ignition did it come back to him. Muscle memory, he supposed. Like riding a bike; you never really forget how. He was soothed by the rush of pavement beneath the vehicle. Buildings and bright trees passed by. His world almost felt okay for a while.

He let out a sharp breath as he parked the car in front of the diner and rubbed his sweating palms across his jeans anxiously.

“You sure about this?” Jeremy asked.

“Pretty damn sure,” Michael sighed, tipping his head back to gaze at the gray ceiling. “Just… anxious, I guess. I haven't talked to anybody but you and Rich since I fell, you know? What if I say something stupid?”

Jeremy put his hand on his shoulder. Michael met his eyes.

“You'll do fine. Just don't be too hard on yourself and relax. It’s not the end of the world if you fuck up a little.”

“Promise?” he grinned.

“Sure, promise,” said Jeremy.

With a subtle nod, Michael took a deep breath and said, “Alright, I’m going.”

“Good luck,” Jeremy said.

“No such thing,” he smirked, leaving the other man with a comically perplexed expression as he strode away into the diner.

* * *

Sunday mornings were slow; he knew that from having waited tables before. Half of the consumer populous was at church and the other half still asleep. The rush would come at lunchtime just before noon. The building’s layout was straightforward; there was an open dining area, a bar, and a swinging door leading to the kitchen.

Chairs were still stacked upside down on top of tables. The freshly-cleaned floor hadn't been tainted by spilled food, drinks, and various filth tracked in from people’s shoes. The atmosphere was relaxed as well as puzzling. One half of the establishment looked like a place you had innocent breakfast dates, or took your kids, or even had lunch with grandparents. The other side, with the bar, looked like a place you came to drown yourself in alcohol, smoke, and chat up sleazy girls. Somehow it all blended together without too much chaos, he supposed.

A very bored-looking bartender stood cleaning a glass. The girl had wavy brown hair and swampy green eyes. Michael also noticed the tattoo resting at the crevice of her breasts... Not that he was looking.

Michael approached her and cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I'm looking to apply for a job. You got any positions open?”

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “I’ll get you an application from the back.” She looked back over her shoulder and added, “I’m Chloe, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, I'm Michael.”

When Chloe returned, she put the application and a pen on the bar in front of him. “If you wanna fill it out here, go ahead.”

Michael nodded and picked up the pen. When he’d filled out the three pages, he shakily passed it across the bar.

Chloe’s expression didn't change as she picked it up, skimmed over it, and said, “Yeah you're hired.”

“What, seriously? You don't need to talk to the manager?”

“I did, considering I am the manager. Anyway, we’re short on waitstaff right now. Just lost two guys. One quit and the other got himself fired. The rest of the staff will be glad to have you.”

“Thank you,” Michael sighed.

Chloe shook her head and set back to polishing the glass.

“Ah, save it, hon. I'm busting my ass here. We need all the help we can get. When can you start?”

“I, uh… Tomorrow morning?”

“Great, be here at 9. You'll need a white dress shirt and some black pants.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “And the tattoos won't be a problem, right?”

Chloe scoffed and pointed at the tattoo on her chest. “We’re a low-class diner with a bar in New Jersey. What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect,” Michael laughed. “I'll see you tomorrow morning then.”

“Don't be late!” Chloe called after him.

“Sure thing.”

He stepped out the door and into the car. Mere seconds passed before Jeremy asked, “So how’d it go?”

Michael grinned and bit his lip. “I got the job.”

“What? Just like that?” Jeremy said enthusiastically. “That's fucking awesome!”

“Yeah! I'm excited about it. You mind if we make one more stop to grab my uniform? I can pay you back after I start work.”

“‘Course,” he said. “And don't worry about it.”

Michael sighed. “Okay, but you've got to at least let me pay rent and get groceries sometimes, Jer.”

Jeremy reluctantly agreed. “You don't have to worry so much about it though.”

“Look, you're doing a bang-up job of taking care of yourself already, I don't want you trying to keep my ass off the street too. My mommas didn't raise a freeloader.”

Jeremy laughed. “Fine, you win. Pay part of the water bill or whatever. We’ll figure it out. Anyway, how’s the boss?”

“Heh. Got hired by the manager. She's kinda strange. Has an odd tattoo on her boobs. Talks really crassly. She seems like a good person though.”

“Nice,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah. She's the bartender too,” he rambled with a soft laugh. “I'm pretty sure her face only has one expression. Chloe looks like the embodiment of perpetual boredom. Or apathy. I haven't figured that out yet. Such a resting bitch face.”

“God, I love people like that. It's just funny, you know? It’s like nothing affects them much and it's weird. Not a bad thing, just strange.”

Michael worked the steering wheel between his hands. It was solid and familiar.

“Yeah,” Michael chuckled. “Unlike you. I swear I've seen you make the most insane faces sometimes. Your expressions have expressions.”

“Hmm, fuck you too,” Jeremy said, grinning.

After picking up clothes for work and (upon Jeremy’s insistence) going out for coffee they went home.

 _Home._ The concept felt strange in Michael’s head; that Jeremy’s apartment had somehow become just that. In a way, he felt that Jeremy himself was his home. The only thing he had left now.

He'd build upward. He'd keep this job, make friends, and try to move on. It was all he could do to try and survive like this.

“Thanks for letting me drive,” Michael said coolly, putting the keys in the other man’s hand.

“No problem. I think you enjoy it more than me.”

“I've always liked it. It's better now though. Makes me feel more… I dunno, normal.”

“Human, right?” Jeremy said knowingly.

“Yeah,” Michael said, looking into his hazel eyes. “It’s good to feel human.”

Too human, he thought as he watched Jeremy taking off his jacket. He was beautiful. His shirt hung below his collarbones; the black fabric contrasting his porcelain skin. Michael forced himself to look away. He was a monster, thrown from heaven itself. Jeremy may have been strong but he was fragile in ways Michael knew all too well. With a toxic touch, he'd never be good enough. He was dangerous, and he wouldn't touch Jeremy.

He'd hurt him enough.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy lazed around at 7:16 AM trying to find motivation to get out of bed. A sliver of weak sunlight seeped through the space between the curtain and the window.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael has his first day of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to what I call Act 2 of this fic!
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

Jeremy lazed around at 7:16 AM trying to find motivation to get out of bed. A sliver of weak sunlight seeped through the space between the curtain and the window. He didn't want to go to work, but it was Monday, and bills were due next week…

As he began to rouse himself from the warm cocoon of sheets and covers, motivation came in the form of a sudden “ _Thump!_ ”; followed by a hushed groan of “ _Shit_.”

He found Michael in the living room, slumped across the coffee table, gripping on for dear life.

“I have no balance!” he cried. “I've got work in less than two hours and I'm so fucking fucked.”

Jeremy winced. “Just, um, relax, okay? We’ll figure it out. Can you describe how it feels?”

Michael nodded slowly, panting. “It just started happening. It’s like… I dunno, like my equilibrium is gone. I keep falling forward and I can't get my goddamn feet to act right.”

His first thought was that it had to be related to the loss of his wings. It was the only thing that had changed. But why hadn't it started right away? Had the shock kept him from it until now? There was only one way to tell.

“Hey, can you stand up? I want to see something,”

“Okay,” Michael said skeptically, pushing himself up from the coffee table.

He took in the sight; Michael stood at a tilted axis, all his weight bearing forward. It had to be more psychological than physical. He'd heard of people losing limbs and having difficulties processing it… Could it be the same with wings? They were like limbs, right?

“You lost your wings, Mikey,” he said softly.

Michael looked at him with a puzzled expression before the realization crept over his face.

“I still feel like they should be there,” Michael said defeatedly.

“I know. But it's what’s messing up your balance; you're leaning forward too much. And they probably stabilized you, right?”

He nodded somberly.

Jeremy ran his fingers through his hair, trying to conjure a solution. Michael would have to learn to rebalance… Maybe he could help him.

“I’ve got a thought,” he said. “You've got to fix your balance, what if I kept you lined up? Like physical therapy or something.”

Michael was quiet, but stood up further; legs shaking. Jeremy lined himself up behind him and gripped his shoulders.

“Okay?” he said.

“Yeah,” Michael sighed.

His head tipped back and rested against his shoulder a moment. He found it odd; the way he flinched at every touch as though he were scared but then drank in every bit of proximity while searching for more. Michael straightened against him so his posture was even with his own and Jeremy eased him away. He faltered at first, reaching back for the coffee table, but Jeremy steadied him.

Once he stood solidly, Jeremy eased away from his back and stood at arm’s length. He kept enough positive resistance to keep him from leaning too far forward. The goal was to help him rebalance himself.

“Okay, now walk,” he said.

Michael took trepidatious steps forward with shaking knees but gained confidence the more he took. They practiced walking the course of the apartment several times. Jeremy coached him to keep his shoulders back and his spine straight, to walk on his heels instead of his toes, and to relax his knees a little. When he seemed sure of himself, Jeremy released his grip and let him walk on his own.

Michael sighed with relief at the steadiness of his footing.

“God, I hate this,” he said. “I don't like needing help.”

“It's okay,” he reassured him. “You're probably just in shock. Kind of like losing a leg, right?”

“Something like that, I guess.”

“You think you're okay to go to work?”

“Shit, I hope so.”

“Me too,” Jeremy said. “It’s gotta suck being stuck here all the time. You should let me check your back before you go, though. The bandages probably need changed again.”

Reluctantly, Michael let him lead him into the bathroom. He stripped his shirt off, and turned his back to him. Gingerly, Jeremy peeled the bandages from his skin. Indentations were left in his skin where they had been.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

“Oh fuck, what?” Michael groaned dejectedly.

“No, it's not bad just… look.” He turned the man around so he could see his own back in the mirror.

“Huh,” Michael breathed. “Imagine that.”

No more than two days had passed, yet the wounds had closed, leaving no more than two nasty scars; thick pink lines curving against his shoulder blades. Like an injury from years ago. Jeremy touched them tenderly, running his thumbs along the raised skin.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

Michael shook his head, and looked away from his reflection.

“Not physically,” he said softly.

Jeremy felt a pang in his chest. He wanted to pull Michael close; to hold his head against his chest, stroke his hair; and tell him it would be okay. But it didn't feel right… Like somehow that would be taking advantage of him, half naked and wounded inside and out. So he settled for touching his shoulder gently and handing him his shirt. Michael thanked him and slipped it back over his head.

Taking a minute to compose himself and put a casual tone back in his voice, he said, “So I’ve got to be at work at nine too, okay if I drop you off a couple minutes early and pick you up later?”

“That’s fine,” Michael replied flatly. “I’ll be ready in a minute. You want eggs or toast?”

“Uh… toast. Thanks, Mikey.”

And so the morning went, like everything was fine. Like Michael had always been there.

* * *

After breakfast, Michael turned his back and glared at the scars in the mirror. He loathed them; a physical reminder of what he'd become. He considered getting a new tattoo to cover them, but it felt wrong somehow. He wasn't the kind of man that ran from punishment. If they were there, he deserved them.

He sighed and ran his hands over his face. The urge to tell Jeremy the truth ate him from the inside out. His throat burned with it as he remembered the way he'd touched these scars; warm and gentle, curious yet sorrowful. He deserved to know why he was there. He deserved to know what he was.

But he was a coward. He kept his mouth shut and couldn't bear the concept of coming clean. Jeremy was all he had left. He didn't want to see the hatred he felt for himself in the man’s eyes. He didn't want the gentle touches and peaceful breakfasts to stop.

And the worst part was, he wouldn't blame him for hating him. He'd done him wrong; failing to protect him when he was the one entrusted to do it. Every scar Jeremy bore was his failure. How could he face that?

Interrupting his thought process was Jeremy knocking on the bathroom door, asking if he was okay, urging him to go to work or else he'd be late. He slipped the shirt back on, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped out of the room.

He repeatedly reassured him that he’d be fine at work and for God’s sake not to worry, he was okay. He said it once as they left the apartment, again on the drive over, and a third time as he stepped out of the car.

“I'll see you at five-ish,” Jeremy said. “Have a good day, and text me if something goes wrong.”

A bell sounded cheerfully against the front door as he opened, contrasting the ringing in his ears.

“Man of the hour,” Chloe said tonelessly. “Good to see you in early. Brooke’s our best server, she’ll show you the ropes today.”

As though summoned, a girl with blonde hair and a bright expression walked to the bar.

“It's about time we got someone new,” she said with a soft voice. “My social life’s gone to shit because I'm only ever here.”

She extended a hand. “I’m Brooke. I keep this place running, whether Chloe is gonna admit it or not.”

Chloe chuckled.

Michael introduced himself, shaking the hand she'd offered.

“Ooh, firm handshake,” she said. “You'll be good here.”

She gestured for him to follow her, which should have been easy, considering she was so small. But it wasn't; she was fast. She seemed to hop from end to end of the diner in a matter of seconds, leaving his head spinning. Like a little fairy she smiled all day and cussed relentlessly.

“Keep up, pretty boy.” She smirked over her shoulder. “We pride ourselves on fast service. Or I do, anyway.”

She didn't slow her pace to instruct him but instead kept him attentive by forcing him to think fast. Fortunately, they day started slow, so by the time the lunch crowd rolled in, Brooke had decided he was ready for her to throw him in the water.

“Sink or swim,” she’d said.

He liked serving; liked talking to people and reading their expressions as they conversed with one another. The work was difficult, but it at least kept his mind off of the tougher portions of his life. Working had always helped him cope. In the diner, he was just like everyone else. In the diner the only troubles were belligerent customers and spilled drinks.

“Keep working this good, I'm gonna keep you as a pet,” Brooke teased as he carried a tray in each arm to a table in his section.

“Nah you don't want me, I bite,” he laughed.

“Nice,” she snickered, turning to a table of her own.

He made it through the day with no major accidents, though he did earn himself a few perplexed expressions when he swung too far around a corner or danced over his own feet confusedly. His balance would need more work, but he supposed he would be fine without Jeremy needing to help him any more. Forget phantom limb syndrome, who knew you could have phantom _wing_ syndrome? He felt like he should still have pounds and pounds of muscle, bone, and feathers on his back. It was like any minute he’d lose his footing or somehow float to the ceiling unencumbered.

His and Brooke’s shift ended at four-thirty, which left him an hour or so to wait for Jeremy. Sensing his anxiety, Brooke nudged him onto a barstool and sat next to him.

“You drink much?” she asked.

She rested her elbows on the bar.

He paused and tried to remember what he used to like.

“Fair amount,” he said.

“Cool,” she said. “I'll buy you a beer, since you were actually competent help today.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don't thank me. After the last couple weeks I've had here, it's the least I can do.” She smirked and made a point of adding loudly, “Since Chlo can't keep this joint staffed worth a shit. I'm practically all she’s got left."

Chloe looked incredibly tired as she handed Michael his beer. She pointed Brooke’s at her threateningly.

A small smile crossed her face as she said, “Badmouth me and my managing all you want, babe. But you call me Chlo one more time, and I'm shoving one of these up your ass.”

Brooke tipped her head forward with laughter. “Somewhere, deep down in that cold heart of yours, you love me.”

Michael snickered as he took a sip of his beer. Drinking was fun and she seemed like good company to do it with.

When she got him comfortable, she got him talking, he found.

“So the guy who’s picking you up, he's your boyfriend right?”

Michael felt his shoulders tense. “Not-exactly, no.”

“Aww but you like him though, don't you?” she smiled warmly. “Not that it's any of my business.”

“Yeah… he's really important to me. I don't think being in a relationship with him is a great idea though, you know?”

“I get that. Sucks though. I gave up on finding a boyfriend forever ago and got a dog instead.”

“Definitely the better choice,” Michael said, grinning.

“Yeah, it’s no fun when every guy you meet is only interested in getting in your pants. Thought that’d end with high school, but nope. I get no respect. I'm not about that.”

“Well, if you're half the woman you are a server, you're damn respectable.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, pretty boy. But I've got a feeling we’ll be friends.”

Friends. Michael found himself smiling at the notion. This girl was easy to talk to. He could use a friend; someone he didn't owe so much to. He'd love having more conversations like these.

His phone vibrated against the wood of the bar; Jeremy texting him to say he was outside.

“My ride’s here. Thanks for the beer and everything,” he said to Brooke.

She smiled and said, “Thanks for the the good work and for drinking with me. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He wished her and Chloe both a good night and stepped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to summer coming around the corner, i'll be able to post much more often! i will say that it will have to keep to an either 2 or 1 time a week thing, depending on the chapter
> 
> hope you're all having a good day, lovelies!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days to Thanksgiving passed almost painlessly. Michael worked and grew closer to Brooke, Chloe, and even Jeremy.
> 
> -
> 
> Jeremy and Michael celebrate Thanksgiving with the Heere family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being unable to update last week! but I will finish this no matter what! (*-ω-)
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

The days to Thanksgiving passed almost painlessly. Michael worked and grew closer to Brooke, Chloe, and even Jeremy.

He’d gotten mostly used to the lack of wings; though he still took the occasionally three-foot swerve around corners. It earned him quizzical expressions from customers and co-workers. Brooke gleaned joy from teasing him about his “crazy legs”.

Thanksgiving morning painted him vomiting right after breakfast from anxiety. He still hadn't confessed to Jeremy. The words wouldn't come, no matter how he tried. The anticipation of eating dinner with the Heere family only made it worse. He'd let them down too. He could try his whole damn life and he still couldn't fix these mistakes.

He brushed his teeth and glared into his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. His skin crawled. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he calmed down an ounce at a time. Thanksgiving dinner gave Jeremy horrible anxiety. He needed to rid himself of his own to help him stay steady.

He prayed Bethany would believe Jeremy’s insistences that no, Michael’s just a friend, I swear. Knowing Bethany, she'd stick to cheerful teasing and fixate more on how thin Jeremy seemed to be getting. No one would mention it, but this would be his first sober holiday season in a long time. Michael was proud of him. He'd given up on himself but he was making an effort again, even though he did seem to struggle most days. Often he saw him tracing his fingers over the scars and veins of his arms, staring at them with blank eyes.

Life had become routine, somehow. They took turns buying groceries and paying bills. Michael had taken up half of the chores. The two worked similar schedules, so Jeremy dropped him off and picked him up. It was comfortable in its simplicity.

Against his better judgment he trekked to the kitchen and filled a mug to the brim. He knew putting black coffee on an empty stomach was unwise, but he could care less. It wasn't like he could technically die anytime soon so why go out of his way to care for his health? Worst case scenario; it made him sick, nervous, or hyper.

Jeremy sat at the table staring into a cup of his own. His knee bounced with anxiety, but otherwise he appeared to be holding his composure.

“It's just dinner,” Michael said gently, sitting down. “One night to see way too many family members, and then it's over. Besides, the food’s good.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, “Just makes me nervous.”

“Me too. But it's gonna be alright. Just stick to me and Rich.”

“I'll be fine. Just… first year I'm gonna be ah… present for the whole thing.”

“I won't drink either, alright? Just relax.”

Jeremy pressed his lips into a thin line. “Okay,” he said softly.

He debated with himself, and finally put his hand on top of Jeremy's. Long fingers curled around his own and Michael felt his pulse flinch. Jeremy sighed and squeezed his palm. A moment locked in time passed and he withdrew his hand. The guilt ate him alive but the newfound peace in the other man’s face eased it.

Jeremy’s hands shook as he got in the car. They agreed that Michael ought to drive, considering he was the steadier one of the two at the moment.

They each took a deep breath as the car settled into Bethany Heere’s driveway. Michael grasped the bottle of apple cider that he'd insisted on buying and stepped out of the vehicle. He always felt weird showing up to Thanksgiving dinner empty-handed, so he had to bring something.

Michael’s inclination was to ring the doorbell but Jeremy simply grasped the handle and walked in.

“Mom never locks the damn door on the holidays,” he said, smiling a little.

Michael returned a grin and tried to push his nervousness deep inside of himself. He knew this family, he reasoned. They may not know him but he had always loved them.

The smell of spices and fresh bread filled his nose and took over his mind as he wiped his feet. Rich was there (as he had been since seventh grade; that was when his father's alcoholism was at its peak) with his girlfriend, Christine. She sat curled against Rich. The burnt orange of her socks stood out against the white tile floor. As the click of the closing door echoed through the house, she turned to smile at them from the living room. “Good to see you guys!” she called.

Bethany appeared out of the kitchen with a bright, toothy smile. “Oh, glad you two came!”

Her eyes full of mirth, she laid her hands on Michael’s arms and said, “You must be Michael. It's so nice to meet you. I'm Bethany.”

“It's nice to meet you too, ma’am.”

She tutted, wiping her hands on the autumn-themed apron around her waist. “Oh, none of that, honey. Are you taking good care of my boy?”

“Doing my best,” he chuckled shakily.

“Don't worry about it, I know he’s a handful,” she said.

“Yeah. I think he takes care of me more than the other way around, honestly.”

“He's good at that. Takes care of everyone else better than he does himself,” said Bethany.

“There's no lie there,” Michael said. “Anything I can do to help in the kitchen?”

Bethany shook her head and smiled wider-miraculously.

She met Jeremy’s eyes. “I like him. Keep him around.”

She flitted back into the kitchen. Jeremy lead him into the living room, and they settled into the couch. Company thus far included Rich and Christine, Paul Heere, an aunt and uncle, as well as two cousins. They all greeted the two of them, asked a handful of generic (and admittedly awkward) questions, and settled back to their stream of gossip and small talk.

Rich and Christine held hands unashamedly and managed to create comfortable conversation between the four of them. Michael felt the couch cushions shift slightly as Jeremy let himself relax into it.

Paul seemed somewhat suspicious of Michael. He spoke warmly to him, but observed him openly. It made Michael anxious, because that was how he behaved to nearly all of Jeremy's past boyfriends and girlfriends. He silently thanked God that he didn't ask too many questions.

His voice seemed to be trapped in the back of his throat, which made speaking rather difficult. His mind drifted to the diner; to Brooke and Chloe. He wondered how those two friends were spending their holiday. He couldn't imagine Chloe ever left the bar, let alone to celebrate a family dinner. She probably stayed there and listened to the lonely drunks ramble on about their sorrows, as she was so good at. She must have known a lot of interesting life stories, he pondered.

It was possible Brooke had taken a shift but it seemed more likely that she would laughing and eating with family members. She was such an endearing person; surely she wouldn't be eating dinner alone. She was better than that.

He was pulled back into the Heere family living room by the soft contact of Jeremy’s knee brushing against his. Soon, an hour passed. It was more than enough time for him to find a fondness for Christine. Her voice was cheerful, soft, and sweet. She didn't pry or drone about petty subjects, but kept a cozy interaction alive.

Jake crossed his mind. He smiled to himself, knowing he must have chosen this girl for Rich. Michael had always admired his matchmaking abilities.

Bethany called from the kitchen that dinner was ready. It resulted into an immediate exodus from their seats to the dining room. The table was laden with an aesthetically appealing display of food, which Bethany gestured to proudly. Thanksgiving always had been her favorite holiday. She swore she loved the chance to show gratitude for family but everyone knew it was really because she loved to show off her hosting skills.

“It's beautiful,” Paul said, complimenting his ex-wife.

“As always.” Rich smiled.

“You've outdone yourself, mom,” Jeremy said.

“Well, the opportunity to enjoy Thanksgiving with two new people is wonderful.”

All eyes darted between Michael and Christine and back to Michael again. He managed to stifle the small flush of embarrassment that rippled through him.

“Who would like to say grace?” Bethany asked.

“Been a couple years since Jeremy said it,” Paul said pointedly.

Michael watched him shift his weight uncomfortably before saying, “Actually… I think Michael might like to.”

He felt himself smile as Bethany offered him the opportunity. He thanked them, met Jeremy’s eyes, and bowed his head. He prayed in a traditional tone, wary that he wouldn't raise questions.

Jeremy slipped his hand inside his own as he prayed, steadying him.

“Lord, we thank you that we've been able to come together today. To enjoy warm hospitality and enjoy each other’s company. You give us many blessings and this is a nice opportunity to reflect on them. We thank you for the protection you've given us, the food we’ll enjoy, and the chance to get to know each other. Most of all, we thank you for the people we love and pray you help us to always be grateful for them. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

Jeremy dropped his hand before anyone could notice. A soft chorus of “Amen,” resonated through the room.

“That was beautiful, Michael,” said Christine. “I don't think I've ever heard a better Thanksgiving grace.”

Jeremy grinned at him knowingly.

He sat at the table between him and Rich, which brought him a sense of security. These two knew him, at least… mostly. Significantly more than anyone else here.

Dishes of food were passed around the table; fresh rolls, macaroni and cheese, corn casserole, green beans, cranberry sauce, turkey, and stuffing. It all looked and smelled fantastic.

Dinner conversation was light and pleasant. He recalled Thanksgivings with his own family. Inevitably, someone would start an argument, and it would grow to massive proportions before someone else would shut it down with “For God’s sake, it's Thanksgiving.”

He'd loved his own family and the holidays they celebrated but this still felt much more peaceful. Fight-free holidays were a blessing in his book.

Following family tradition, Bethany suggested at dessert that everyone take a turn to say what they were most thankful for.

At the end of the table, Paul started. “I'm thankful for Bethany's wonderful cooking and that my two boys grew into good men.”

Bethany said, “I'm thankful for my family. Especially my sons and the people they love. Mostly, I'm thankful that we've made it through the hardships we've faced these past few months and seen the other side.”

“I'm thankful for love,” Christine gushed. “Rich is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Rich kissed her temple, and took his turn. “I’m thankful for my girlfriend and my best friend. These two keep me grounded.”

Michael swallowed hard as his turn came.

“I’m thankful for Jeremy,” he said, letting go of his fear. “For taking me in when I didn't have anything of my own left. And for bringing me here to have such a great night with his family.”

Jeremy smiled, and said his piece. “I'm thankful for everyone that has shown me love and forgiveness. For sticking by my side through my worst times. And for Michael for helping me feel less alone in the world.”

A warmth rose in Michael’s chest and for a moment he felt like crying. Jeremy was so kind to him. More than he'd ever deserve.

The rest of the family took their turns but Michael remained lost in his head through their words.

When everyone had eaten their fill, Michael insisted that Bethany let him help clean up.

“Oh, fine,” she huffed. “You're a good boy, you know that?”

“I just like to do my part,” he said.

“Can I help too?” Christine chirped.

“I guess,” Bethany sighed. “I don't know what I'll do with the two of you, honestly.”

As the night passed on, dishes were done, food was stuffed into tupperware for leftovers, and he got to know Christine rather well. Her infectious kindness and loyalty stood out most. Jake had definitely chosen her. He had a feeling she and Rich would be together for a long time.

Bethany hummed, and placed a container full of food in Michael’s hands. It was still warm.

“Make sure Jeremy eats plenty. I'm worried if he gets too much thinner he'll vanish altogether.”

Michael laughed. “I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

Once they had finally managed to pry himself free of the family’s grasp, they headed out the door.

“Well, we survived,” Jeremy grinned, eyes lit by distant moonlight.

“Hell yeah,” Michael said. “I love your family.”

“I love 'em,” said Jeremy. He leaned back against the hood of the car and retrieved two cigarettes from his coat pocket.

They filled their lungs with smoke and stared toward the open night sky.

“I think that was the best damn Thanksgiving I've had in a long time.”

“Me too,” Michael breathed, a cloud of smoke seeping through his lips.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leftovers lasted entirely too long. The massive container Bethany had shoved into Michael’s hands was packed tightly with turkey, corn casserole, cranberry sauce, and two slices of pumpkin pie. Jeremy ended up eating turkey-and-cranberry sandwiches for breakfast for at least a week, while Michael discovered that yes, it is actually possible to get tired of corn casserole.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael gets into a fight at the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! I really hope you all enjoy this chapter because I worked really hard to get it out today.
> 
> TW; there is a fight scene in the middle-ish of the chapter, but it should be fairly obvious something is going to happen when you get there. take caution if you think you would be offended or upset reading that and feel free to skip it entirely if you must.
> 
> happy reading! ⊂( ・ ̫・)⊃

Leftovers lasted entirely too long. The massive container Bethany had shoved into Michael’s hands was packed tightly with turkey, casseroles, cranberry sauce, and two slices of pumpkin pie. Jeremy ended up eating turkey-and-cranberry sandwiches for breakfast for at least a week, while Michael discovered that yes, it is actually possible to get tired of corn casserole.

“Thank God that's done,” Jeremy said as he emptied the last bit of turkey from the container. Disdainfully, he dropped the container in the sink. “Mom cooks great but it gets old pretty damn fast.”

Michael readily agreed, sighing into his third cup of coffee. He felt the caffeine beginning to flow through his veins, making him feel both excited and peaceful.

The growing pile of laundry in the corner by the washer troubled him. Neither of them had found the simultaneous time and motivation to wash it; so it was starting to feel pretty sad. Especially troublesome was the smell that came when you went too close. It'd been two days since a drunk girl had thrown up on one of his work shirts. He'd taken it off and cleaned it in the bathroom sink but that only went so far. He decided that at this point it was probably a wise choice to just throw the damn shirt away. This had to end; he'd do the laundry today after work.

The rest of the morning played on in typical fashion; the initial easy pace followed by a mad dash to get out the door on time.

Jeremy had made a habit of leaning over the car’s center console to hug him before work, which Michael didn't mind in the slightest. In spite of himself and how much he hated everything he'd failed to do, Jeremy made him feel safe. Secure.

Since Jeremy had to drop him off roughly 10 minutes early every morning, he often found himself leaning on the bar chatting with Brooke before he clocked in. He’d come to love these mornings.

“Morning, pretty boy,” Brooke chuckled as he walked in.

“Fuck you very much, fine lady,” he replied.

She laughed and propped her hand on her hip.

The first half of the day went like any other. He served coffee and breakfast to multiple tables at time, smiling and taking orders. Most of them tipped him fairly but he grumbled under his breath at the people who only left two or three dollars. Come on, people. He had bills to pay too.

The approaching end of Michael and Brooke’s shift was marked by the arrival of the nightly drinking crowd. They spent the last portion of their time leaning against a wall near the bar, watching Chloe serve liquor.

As a text came from Jeremy, trouble began. Michael glanced down to his phone, and that was when he heard it.

“You son of a bitch!” a man roared.

Michael jerked his head up just in time to see a burly bald man grab a lanky bearded guy by the shoulders. The man yanked him from his barstool and took a punch square in the face. Chaos took over as Chloe shouted for the two to knock it off and Brooke rushed forward to intervene.

Fists flew and glasses were broken. At some point a table was knocked over and the brawl only seemed to be growing more heated.

He saw it coming before it happened. Boldly, Brooke wedged her body in between the two men and shoved them away from each other. And then the burly guy hit her. She let out an awful whimper as his fist met her face. She fell to the floor and Michael felt something inside of himself snap. The lanky man froze in shock but the burly one still didn't ease off. Instead, he started to reach toward the floor, hovering menacingly over Brooke.

Michael didn't think; he just reacted. He didn't know how many times he hit the guy. He just kept wheeling back to throw another punch, out of control. It was bad enough the guy had started a fight and made such a mess but he couldn't let him think for a second he could hit Brooke without serious consequences.

His fist began to throb and the next thing he knew, he heard the impact. Once, twice, three times. His vision went blurry with pain. He felt his legs go weak.

Time froze as Chloe’s voice rang through the air.

“ _You stop right this motherfucking second!_ ” she screamed.

The blows stopped and Michael’s vision cleared. He saw the man’s face; red, puffy and bloodied. Metallic and bitter in his mouth was the taste of his own blood.

“One more kick, punch, or anything and I swear to God, you spend the night in jail.”

The man looked like a deer caught in the headlights; seemingly shocked at what he’d done.

Chloe picked the phone up. “Now I'm calling you a cab, you're gonna go home, and I'm not gonna ever see your face in here again. You understand me?”

The man nodded stiffly and wiped his nose. He winced as he touched his face. The lanky man had taken a seat and Michael stumbled to help Brooke to her feet.

“Fuck,” Brooke murmured.

Michael wiped his face on his sleeve, and saw the white fabric stained crimson. Great, he thought. With his luck, his nose was probably broken.

He felt angrier still as he took in the sight of Brooke, her right eye bruised. Blood seeped from a cut at her eyebrow.

He stammered, turning to Chloe. “I should uh… help you clean up this mess.”

“Go home, Michael. You didn't do anything wrong. You weren't even on the clock anymore, and he hit a girl. Asshole got what was coming to him.”

“I should go too,” Brooke said dejectedly. “Thanks for sticking up for me, Michael.”

“Yeah, uh… You shouldn't have to go home by yourself after getting punched in the face like that. Why don't you come over to me and Jeremy’s place for a bit? We can fix your eye up and everything.”

She chewed on the notion for a moment and shrugged. “It couldn't hurt. I can't quite see straight anyway.”

“Okay,” he said. “Jeremy’s already outside. Let’s get outta here.”

She followed him out the door. Sorrowfully, he glanced over his shoulder to see Chloe sweeping up broken glass.

“Holy shit,” Jeremy said anxiously as Michael opened the car door. “What the hell happened?”

“Bar fight,” he said. “Can Brooke come home with us for a bit?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem. You look like you just got the beating of your life, Mikey.”

“Yeah, the bastard hit her and I just kind of… lost it.”

“Jesus,” Jeremy whispered.

Brooke slid into the backseat. “So you're Jeremy,” she said. “Nice to meet you. Please excuse the eye.”

“It's fine,” he said. “Looks pretty painful. We’ll take care of you though. Brooke, right?”

“That’s me. Gotta say, Michael can throw a goddamn punch,” she laughed. “Didn't think such a nice guy would have so much nerve.”

Michael snickered, and buckled his seatbelt. His face hurt, and _fuck_ , did his hand ache.

“Nice place,” Brooke said as they went into the apartment. “It’s cozy.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy said. Michael twitched as Jeremy touched his cheek, just gently. “Fuck, Mikey. You’re a mess.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. He touched Jeremy’s hand, just a moment, and fished an ice pack out of the freezer. He sat Brooke at the table. She leaned forward as he motioned toward her eye. She let out a soft gasp of pain as the cold met the bruised flesh.

“It's not too bad, I don't think.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Not the first time I've gotten a shiner.”

She took the ice pack from him, kept it pressed to her eye. He started to look for a washcloth to clean some of the blood off, but Jeremy beat him to it.

“Michael, just sit down,” he fretted.

Nodding, Michael sat in the chair next to Brooke’s and watched Jeremy wet a washcloth in the sink and wring it out. Gingerly, he pressed the cool cloth against his mouth and began to wipe the blood away. Michael hadn't seen his face, but he imagined it had to be bruised--maybe even swollen in some places. He took note of every spot that the contact of the water stung on split skin.

As Jeremy made an effort to clean his face and hand up, Brooke enthusiastically described every detail of the bar brawl. He found himself laughing at the way she exaggerated his supposed heroism. In all honesty, the untainted rage he’d felt in the scene scared him. Still, he imagined Brooke being hit again, maybe even kicked while she was down and felt the guilt ease off. Hitting a woman wasn't an okay thing to do, no matter how drunk you got.

Jeremy showed him the rag; stained with blood.

“Damn,” Michael hummed.

His lip must have split at the corner, because it stung as he formed his words.

“You did the right thing but Jesus Christ,” said Jeremy. “Next time, guard your face.”

“Yeah,” Brooke chimed in with a smirk. “Your face is far too pretty to fuck it up like that.”

Jeremy laughed a little, pressing an ice pack to Michael’s bruised knuckles. He let out a soft “ah,” of pain at the cold pressure of it.

“Bar fights happen now and then,” Brooke said. “Chloe will give us the next couple days off, since we got hurt.”

After discarding the bloodied washcloth, Jeremy touched a second ice pack to Michael’s cheek, and told him to keep it there.

“I think that's about all I can do for you right now, but it'll heal.”

“Thanks, Jer.”

Jeremy nodded, turning to Brooke as she thanked him for letting her come home with them.

“It's no problem,” he said. “I'm gonna order a pizza…”

“Sounds perfect,” Brooke said.

They spent the rest of the evening chatting, eating pizza, and watching Star Wars. It was peaceful; sitting in the living room with two of the people he loved most.

The night dragged on a while before Michael offered to drive Brooke home.

“Yeah, I should get some rest,” she said. “And you should too. You took the real beating today.”

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugged.

Jeremy put the car keys in his hand, and told him to drive safe.

“Be right back,” he said, smiling.

No sooner than the apartment door was locked behind them, a stiff breeze blew, reminding them that winter was biting at their heels.

“I had a really nice time with you guys tonight,” said Brooke.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, taking the passenger seat. “You're gonna hate me for saying this…”

“Oh fuck, spit it out,” he teased.

“Jeremy likes you.”

He stiffened. “Well… of course. We’re roommates.”

“You know what I mean,” she sighed. “I know it's not any of my business, but… You guys really obviously care about each other.”

“I just… I dunno,” he stammered, putting the car in gear. “I’ll never be good enough for him. I've… I've let him down before.”

“Okay,” she said. “But hey… he seems like a pretty forgiving guy. Just, think about it.”

“I have,” he said. “I just can't. I really don't deserve him.”

“You know,” she said sweetly. “For someone who jumped on a guy and took a hell of a beating in defense of a friend, you're pretty hard on yourself.”

“I guess,” he said, falling quiet.

A moment of loaded silence passed, before Brooke grinned; her white teeth prominent in the dim light.

“Do you wanna come meet my dog before you go home?” she asked as he halted the car outside her apartment complex.

He smiled. “I’d love that,” he said, following her to the door.

Upon entry to the dimly lit room he was greeted by an unstoppable force of a dog; a blue eyed husky squirming and slobbering with excitement. It jumped up to lick his face, paws braced strong against his chest. He pressed his lips tight to protect them from the slimy drool of the gleeful dog. Contentedly, he ran his hands over its soft ears.

“Wow, he _really_ likes you,” Brooke giggled. “I mean, he likes everybody but I’ve never seen him act this way.”

”Hmm, guess he knows I love him,” Michael chuckled as the dog’s tongue lapped at his cheek.

“He’s a good judge of character,” she said. “I got him at a shelter. He was really underweight and he has a lot of health problems. We take care of each other.”

“That’s amazing,” Michael said as the dog finally sat down.

He leaned his head gleefully into Michael’s palm as he stroked his head.

“Thanks for letting me come see him.”

“Well, thanks for getting pounded in the face on my behalf,” said Brooke, bumping his shoulder playfully.

He went home covered in white fur and dried canine saliva. Jeremy sat at the table, his legs crossed, sketching messily with a charcoal pencil.

Two shirts went in the trash; one covered in blood and the other, vomit from the previous week. Who knew working at a diner with a bar was so hard on clothes?

As he finished loading the massive pile of laundry into the washer, he turned around to find Jeremy standing behind him. It startled him at first, because Jesus he was quiet.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jeremy murmured.

He didn't give Michael the chance to ask what was bothering him. He wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him close. Michael rested his face against his shoulder, feeling safe and warm all of a sudden.

“Please be careful, Mikey,” he whispered into his hair. “I need you in my life.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he hummed against Jeremy’s skin. “I promise you.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days grew colder as winter came, bringing biting temperatures and graceful snow.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael and Jeremy plan to have a Christmas party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k, since I love all of you (and this chapter was fairly short and I had a lot of spare time) I decided to update sooner than I usually do! i'm also in a very happy mood because 1. SKSKS ITS PRIDE MONTH and 2. i'm going to sEE DAN AND PHIL @ VIDCON OKAY I DONT GIVE TWO SHITS IF IM BEING CRINGY BECAUSE HOLY FUUUCK i have been watching their videos since the first phil is not on fire in 2009!!!! they've saved my life numerous times!! and!!! i'm getting to see them after months of practically NO content!!! holy! mother! of! fuck!
> 
> k that's it :D
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

The days grew colder as winter came, bringing biting temperatures and graceful snow. The soothing contrast between the chilling atmosphere and the heat of the coffee mug in his hands made Jeremy feel secure. During the winter he often found himself sitting by the window instead of at the table; curled against the wall, staring toward the sky as flakes of snow fell. On weekends he passed most of his time sitting there with his knees against his chest.

Michael was slightly less happy about the cold but he didn't complain. He’d taken to layering his clothes rather impressively. The average layer count was three, but his record thus far was ten.

“Ah, fuck you and your good circulation,” Michael said with a laugh when Jeremy'd pointed it out.

His breath clouded the glass as he gazed through the window to the flurry outside. Snow had always meant something to him and in New Jersey he'd never seen a Christmas without it.

Oh shit, he thought. Christmas. It was only two weeks away and he hadn't done anything to prepare for it. His favorite holiday, and he hadn't even thought of getting a tree yet.

“Christmas is soon,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Michael smiled. He walked over and leaned against the counter across from Jeremy. “Are we gonna go see your parents again?”

Jeremy pursed his lips. “Actually, I was thinking we could have a party here.”

“You want to?” Michael asked. “You've never hosted one before.”

“That's true,” he sighed. “But it's good to try new things. I think it'd be nice to have a few people come over. Rich and Christine… Brooke and Chloe could come too. Just keep it light and casual.”

“It sounds like fun.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” said Michael, smiling. “We should probably head off to get a tree and presents next week though.”

“I’d like that.”

Michael hummed low and soft around his cigarette. Trails of smoke wafted around his face. The intricate tattoos on his hands held Jeremy’s interest a moment, as he memorized the patterns and letters on his skin. His hair was getting long enough that it covered his ears and fell into his face. Like framework on art, he mused.

Christmas presents were always a challenge. He wanted to get things that would actually mean something. He had a rough idea of what to get Rich, Christine, and his parents, but no clue what to give Michael. He could think of little things, like nice gloves, since he noticed his hands got cold a lot. But he wanted to give him something meaningful for Christmas. He'd have something by next week for sure.

“I'll text Brooke and Chloe. I doubt she has plans. It'll be a hell of a time convincing Chloe to leave work, but I'll get him here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jeremy said.

It wasn't until Christmas Eve that they actually bought a tree, shamefully enough. Jeremy had opted for artificial, but Michael insisted on paying more than half his share in favor of a Douglas Fir.

“Christmas is your favorite holiday. You're planning on going all out for me on Halloween. Come on, Jer,” his argument rang.

“Fine,” he'd conceded.

That night saw them laughing as a holiday mixtape Jeremy made in high school was played. “It's Going To Be A Punk Rock Christmas” resounded through the apartment as they decorated the tree.

The stack of wrapped presents under the tree ate away at him with anticipation. A medium sized, flat box with “Jer” scratched on the label piqued his interest most. The glittery green wrapping paper told him it was from Michael--he'd seen him buy it. Some presents had come in the mail from his mom and dad and still others would be brought to the Christmas party.

He eyed the two small boxes he'd wrapped for Michael. They didn't look like much at first, but he hoped both would mean more than met the eye.

He just hoped Michael didn't spend too much on a present for him. That wasn't unlike him; relentlessly self-sacrificing as he was.

“So you're still not telling me what you got?” Michael pleaded.

“Nope,” Jeremy smirked as he placed a candy cane on a frond of green.

“You're so smug, you bastard,” he chuckled.

“Fuck you too, Mikey,” he said sweetly. “I can promise you my mom sent you an awful sweater though.”

“I'd expect nothing less of her.” He grinned. “I’d bet my ass it has a reindeer on it.”

“One of us gets one, every damn year.”

“I could be so lucky,” Michael deadpanned. “Alright, here's the finishing touch. and I'll light her up, yeah?” He waved the yellow star around excitedly.

“Absolutely.” Jeremy smiled.

He sighed blissfully as he stepped back and flicked the switch to turn the lights around the tree on. It glowed merrily with blue, gold, green, and pink.

“It is beautiful,” he said.

“Yeah,” Michael said. Pink light reflected in his eyes.

He found himself reaching for his hand. He had seized it before he could reason his way out of the gesture. Michael stiffened but surely enough intertwined his fingers with his own. Laced together, so little contact but still so tight, Jeremy marveled at how they fit together.

“Merry Christmas, Jer.”

“Merry Christmas,” he sighed.

He felt two things: awe and pain. Awe that Michael was here with him and that he could have ever loved anyone else. And pain that he couldn't tell Michael how he felt. That it wouldn't work anyway. They just weren't equal.

Michael was pure. Fallen from heaven or not, he was an angel. He'd seen the face of God, known right and wrong… There was a holiness in him that he dared not trespass upon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning he woke at dawn. The alarm didn't have to ring; excitement shook him awake. It was finally Christmas. He felt eight years old.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael and Jeremy celebrate Christmas with their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no TW today; happy reading!

Christmas morning he woke at dawn. The alarm didn't have to ring; excitement shook him awake. It was finally Christmas. He felt eight years old.

“Chestnut coffee!” Michael shrieked gleefully as he stepped into the kitchen. He lifted his cup toward the heavens, as though giving praise.

“Oh damn,” Jeremy said. “I've been looking forward to this stuff all year.”

“Merry Christmas,” Michael said.

“Merry Christmas,” said Jeremy.

“Now will you tell me what you got me?” he bargained.

“No,” Jeremy said with a mock stern tone. “Wait till the party.”

Michael tipped his head back and groaned. “But that's not until seven!”

Jeremy giggled. “Lord, be patient. What are you, six?”

“On Christmas? Hell yeah I am.”

“Fair enough.”

To pass the time until their friends came, they finished decorating the apartment, played board games, and watched movies.

“It's a very Star Wars Christmas,” Michael said.

“Every Christmas is a Star Wars Christmas.”

“Amen.”

Seven PM felt days away but the time did pass reliably. Michael sprang to his feet the moment the doorbell rang.

“Merry Christmas, guys!” Brooke cried as he opened the door.

Michael returned the greeting and let her in. She made her way to the kitchen to empty her full arms.

“You're gonna love me,” she teased.

“And I don't already?” Michael asked.

“Not as much as you will.” She pulled a cardboard carton out of a plastic bag. “Cuz I got you eggnog.”

“You're fucking kidding!”

“Nope,” she said as she placed two pristinely wrapped presents beneath the glimmering tree.

“Damn, that's great. You're the best, Brooke.”

“You know it, pretty boy. Chloe’s bringing dark rum too,” she said.

“Oh, we don't--”

Jeremy interrupted, leaning over the table. “I don't drink. Michael does.”

Michael looked at him quizzically.

“Come on,” he argued. “Just because I'm not hitting the stuff doesn't mean you can't. It's Christmas. Drink your head off with friends. Have a good time.”

He had better self control now. He knew he'd be okay, and he was curious what a drunk Michael looked like. Entertaining as all hell, he imagined. He had so much energy already… What happened when alcohol was poured on top of it?

“You're sure?” Michael said skeptically.

“Hundred percent,” Jeremy said.

“Okay,” Michael said quietly. “I trust you.”

The words drifted through Jeremy’s head. They bounced from end to end of his skull.

Chloe arrived next, bearing high end liquor as promised, as well as a Christmas card. No less, she was dressed as a sexy (and slightly revealing) Santa Claus.

“One word and I fire you,” she said as Michael opened his mouth. “I just got off work. This shit’s good for business. Besides, the hat is warm. I'm freezing my tits off.”

Rich and Christine came last, but not far behind schedule.

“Sorry we’re late!” Christine said. “But I brought cookies!”

“Damn things don't bake fast enough and she wanted them to be fresh,” Rich chuckled.

“Oh hush,” she giggled.

Jesus, she’s too fucking precious, Jeremy thought. Not his type of girl personally, but Rich had really scored.

They placed their presents under the tree as well, and Christine presented them with a vast array of sugar cookies perfectly decorated shaped like Santa, reindeer, trees, and snowflakes.

“You made these?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah! My mom loves Christmas. She taught me when I was nine.”

“They’re fantastic,” he said, biting into one.

Eggnog followed. The warmth of sugary holiday bliss filled his mouth and eased away what remaining anxiety he had.

As everyone eased in and hummed along with “Deck The Halls”, Michael downed his second glass of eggnog.

“We should probably open presents before Michael and Brooke drink too much to know what they were,” he said.

“Fair enough,” said Brooke. “Open mine first, Michael!”

“Listen,” he kidded, “I love you, but I've been wondering what Jeremy got since like, forever.”

“Oh, alright. But I'm next!”

Gingerly, Michael ripped the wrapping paper and opened the first box. He let out a breath of excitement and cradled the pair of fingerless gloves in his hands. They'd jumped out at Jeremy in this store, and seemed to suit his personality exceptionally well. He smiled as Michael slipped them on, running his fingers over the skeleton design.

“Damn,” he said. “These are perfect.”

“They glow in the dark too,” Jeremy said.

“I love them,” purred Michael.

“Come on, get the next one,” he nudged.

The smaller box was the important one. The most thought and effort had gone into it. Michael’s eyes shined the moment he saw the concert tickets and he radiated happiness as he read them.

“Rancid?” he said disbelievingly. “Jeremy-I… I don't know what to say. I just… Floor tickets. How much did these cost?”

“Don't worry about it. We both love them, and they'll be in the area soon. I had to.”

Michael threw both arms around him and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” he breathed in his ear. He opened the rest of his presents with untampered joy. Brooke had given him a high end pair of combat boots—genuine leather. Rich and Christine had pitched in together to get him a vintage Ramones shirt. Folded inside Chloe's card, was a wad of cash with a note saying “Your Christmas bonus. Thanks for helping.”

Jeremy buzzed with curiosity as he opened the box from Michael. Folded neatly inside was a black leather jacket—nicer than Jeremy would ever buy himself. He pulled it out, and found it fit almost perfectly. The inside was lined with soft material.

“Holy shit, Michael,” Jeremy breathed.

“It's vintage. I got it online. It's really high quality so it'll hold up. I figured you deserved something really nice for taking me in like you have.”

“You're amazing,” Jeremy said.

As the rest of the presents were opened, Michael and Brooke took turns bringing each other drinks from the kitchen. Both of them giggled like children, and made incoherent jokes only the two of them seemed to understand. The drunker Michael got, the higher the pitch in his laugh went.

Heading toward midnight, the party began to die down. Cabs were called, and Jeremy walked everyone out to make sure they got home safely.

By 12:30, Jeremy was left in a messy, festively decorated apartment with an incredibly inebriated Michael. Shreds of bright wrapping paper were littered across the floor and couches.

Giggling, Michael stumbled toward the kitchen in search of more rum.

“No, you've had enough,” Jeremy laughed.

Michael stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Okay…” he slurred.

Fuck, Michael was adorable when he was drunk. All of his inhibitions seemed to have melted into fun and joy. It was good to see him so happy, even if it was only temporary.

“We made a mess,” Michael snickered, kicking around the carpet to fluff up the shredded paper. He laughed harder, high in his throat when it fluttered around his feet like confetti. “It's like butterfly wings…” he said distantly.

Michael managed to land on the couch face first when he tripped over his own feet. When he'd righted himself to a sitting position, he patted the cushion next to him.

“Sit with me,” he slurred.

Reluctantly, Jeremy sat down. Michael met his eyes and grinned impossibly wide.

“You're pretty,” he drawled.

Jeremy felt his face flush. Shit, this wasn't going well.

Michael’s voice cleared a little. “I never say anything cuz I'm all fucked up. And I hate myself a lot, cuz I'm no good for you.”

“Don't say that,” Jeremy said.

“It's true.” He hiccupped, humorously enough, and kept talking. “I'm not. But I love you. Always have.”

“Michael…”

Before he could open his mouth, Jeremy felt the surprisingly gentle press of Michael’s lips against his own. And he couldn't breathe, or think, or do anything but close his eyes, and lean into him. Instinct took over. His pulse rushed and his face burned. His better judgement crawled all over his skin but he still couldn't find the resolve to push him away. He was all too eager to part his lips for Michael; to melt into the way his fingers worked through his hair.

For a moment, there was only the taste of cinnamon, alcohol, and warmth on Michael’s tongue.

Michael pulled back and kissed his cheek softly as well.

He stopped him as he leaned back toward him.

“Mikey,” he warned. “You're drunk. You're not thinking.”

“Doesn't mean it's not true.”

“Yeah, but… you might regret this when you're sober.”

Michael sniffed. “Probably. But I'll never get over… stuff, any other time.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy sighed. “But isn't it supposed to be like… a sin or something? Doesn't the Bible say shit about that?”

The high, soft laugh came again and Michael said, “That’s stupid. Some… some asshole made that j-junk up and a buncha other assholes said ‘eh, makes sense’. Being gay didn't keep me outta heaven.” He laughed again.

“Seriously?” Jeremy said, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Nobody gives t-two fucks. God only cares when you hurt people.”

“Huh,” Jeremy hummed, chewing on the thought.

His breath was soft and warm against his skin. Michael pressed his forehead to his own but didn't kiss him again. He wanted him to, but not drunk. He wanted to be loved sober.

“You should sleep,” Jeremy said.

“You should too.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Goodnight, Michael.”

“Merry Christmas, Jere,” he said groggily.

“Merry Christmas, Mikey.”

“Love ya, Jere.”

 _I love you too,_  he thought. He didn't know why he didn't just say it back. Maybe he’d luck out and Michael wouldn't remember any of it in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eek! it finally happened! now people can stop asking when they finally kiss! yay! anyways, don't celebrate yet… there's going to be a surprise next chapter ;)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Michael woke up he could feel his heartbeat in his skull. The hangover pounded behind his eyes and his stomach cursed him bitterly. He stumbled to the bathroom and bent down to free his insides of the foul taste deep in his throat.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael comes clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so sorry for the super long break??? but I really had some issues I needed to sort through these past two weeks. I can't say when my schedule will return to a semi-normal pace, but please, be patient. anyways, sorry for the rambling, I love you all soooo much
> 
> TWs: vomiting and hangovers :( oh, also feelings

When Michael woke up he could feel his heartbeat in his skull. The hangover pounded behind his eyes and his stomach cursed him bitterly. He stumbled to the bathroom and bent down to free his insides of the foul taste deep in his throat.

“Fuck,” he spat.

Every single time he got drunk he spent the next day wondering what the hell he was thinking.

He let his head roll back to rear against the counter. Memories of the night washed back through his mind; blurred but still unfractured. The most thoughtful presents he'd cherish, laughing himself breathless with Brooke, kicking up shredded wrapping paper, and… Oh no. No, no, no.

His heart had betrayed him; spilling out of his mouth with reckless abandon. He recalled the taste of Jeremy's skin and the heat of his breath. His mind and heart waged war with one another. He was torn between wanting to relive it and wishing it had never happened.

He held his face in his hands and pleaded with God to forgive him this selfishness. Panic made his head throb worse yet as he fished through the cabinet for aspirin. Adrenaline rushed his veins.

There would be no running from this. No denying it. The truth of it burned through his core; that Jeremy had kissed him back, hard. Frightened, unsteady, and yet fervent. He'd leaned into him, met his eyes, and didn't turn him away.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't take Jeremy’s love-not as the monster he was. His jaw tightened and his body shook. He rocked himself back and forth, sitting for hours on the bathroom floor. Guilt corroded his heart like a cancer. He couldn't imagine returning to heaven from this. He didn't think he deserved it before and he damn well didn't now. He imagined himself as the devil’s plaything and vomited again.

It would have been so much easier to have Jeremy reject him. That was fair. He wished he would have just pushed him away, told him he didn't feel the same. After all, weren’t they just friends? Instead, he'd said you’re drunk. That wasn't a rejection.

He'd have to face him eventually, and he had zero clue how to handle the situation. The halcyon days of the normal they’d created was over.

 _Should’ve stayed sober_ , he thought.

Hours passed and the pulsing headache finally subsided.

Jeremy was in the kitchen, chewing on the end of a pencil. He stared at his blank page. It was his habit when his thoughts were gnawing away at him.

Every bit of the mess he was in right now was his own creation. Michael had to face it. He cleared his throat in the hallway so he wouldn't sneak up on Jeremy; easily startled as he was.

His eyes stayed fixated on the paper beneath his fingers. He didn't meet Michael’s eyes, not even with a glance.

“Feeling better?” he asked softly.

“Mostly,” Michael replied, his throat tight.

“That’s good.” Jeremy's voice was distant. “How much of last night do you remember?”

“All of it,” he answered guiltily. “Jer, I-”

Jeremy sighed and put his pencil down. “Don't, Michael.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't start apologizing. Don't try to talk your way out of it.”

“I'm so sorry,” he said, staring at his hands.

“Bullshit,” Jeremy hissed, unexpectedly cold. “You told me you loved me. You kissed me. Why the hell are you sorry?”

“I was drunk.”

“Don't you dare,” said Jeremy. Full of pain, his blue eyes were like ice. “I’ve been drunk more than you have, I promise you. It doesn't mean those feelings aren't real. Just means your walls start coming down.”

Michael clenched his teeth. “You're right,” he sniffed. “I meant what I said.”

“So what’s holding you back, huh? Why can't you talk to me sober?”

“Jeremy… I can't-”

“I have a right to know!” Jeremy said. He pressed his lips together and put a hand over his mouth.

“I didn't mean to yell,” he said as Michael stared at him. “But you keep secrets, Michael. You’re hurting, all the time. I can see it. You fucking apologize for everything, and it’s killing me. You need to talk to me.”

“I can't,” Michael said flatly. He felt the heat of a tear falling from his cheek and onto his hand.

“Then this doesn't mean anything to you.”

“No. No, don't say that.”

“Stop!” Jeremy growled, rising from his chair. “You’re not the only one who can't stand his own face in the mirror. Do you know where I've been this year? I’ve done awful things. To myself and to my family.”

“I know,” Michael whispered. “I know what happened.”

He watched the color drain from the man’s face. “See, that. That’s the problem. You seem to know me so well, but you won't let me know you.”

“You wouldn't like it if you knew,” said Michael.

“You need to stop!” Jeremy shouted. “What did you do that was so horrible? Why the hell are you here?”

Michael heard his voice rise before he thought twice. The chair he sat in fell back and hit the tile floor loudly as he stood up.

“ _Because it’s all my fault!_ ” he screamed. Tears seared his face now. He waited for his ringing ears to quiet down before he spoke again, in a hushed tone now. “All of it.”

Jeremy stared at him with wide eyes as the truth spilled from inside him faster than he could contain it.

“You were a gift, Jeremy. I was chosen to protect you; entrusted with that. I’ve seen your life. I've saved you from a hundred things. But I failed. I didn't protect you enough and you swallowed a bottle of pills because it was too much.” He cleared his throat. “It was my responsibility to make damn sure nothing that bad happened to you. So it's on me.”

Breathlessly, Jeremy shook his head. Michael stared toward the floor. He couldn't look at him, speechless. The hatred he must have felt now… it was suffocating.

“I’ve poisoned almost everything I've ever touched,” Michael said darkly. “And I'll never forgive myself for letting you down. So that's why I didn't want you to know me. I'm a goddamn monster, Jeremy. I told you. I fucking told you.”

He closed his burning eyes and let himself slip down farther into the abyss. The loathing inside was worse than anything he'd ever known.

In that moment, he realized just what a gentle soul Jeremy really was. He didn't scream or turn on him. He didn't hit him or leave. He just sighed and wrapped his arms around him. Michael leaned into his warmth; drowned himself in it.

“I think you should go spend some time at Brooke’s place,” he whispered. “I need time to process. And she'll be there for you.”

“Okay,” Michael whimpered.

“I don't hate you for this, Michael.” Jeremy pressed his lips to his forehead, and then his cheek. “I don't know how to feel about it. But you need to find a way to let it go.”

“I don't know if I can.”

“I know. I haven't let go of what I've done either. But I need some time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Michael.”

The words sank through his body and made him shiver. Sometimes he didn't understand Jeremy’s capacity to be kind.

“I love you too.”

The rise and fall of Jeremy’s chest against his own calmed him.

“Where do we go from here?” Michael asked.

“I wish I knew, Mikey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for such the short and painful chapter! I swear, things only get better from here


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look like death warmed over,” Brooke groaned as she opened the door.
> 
> “I feel like it too.”
> 
> -
> 
> Michael has a talk with Brooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 4th of july for all of my american readers out there, and if you aren't an american reading this, i hope you're having a good day too :)
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

“You look like death warmed over,” Brooke groaned as she opened the door.

“I feel like it too,” said Michael. He shifted his weight as his backpack rested uncomfortably on one shoulder. “Can I stay here for a few days?”

Brooke looked puzzled. “Uh… Always. My sister’s here today but she's pretty chill. You’ll like her. What’s wrong, Mike?”

She stepped to the side to let him in. He slung the bag off his shoulder and onto the couch. A heavy set girl with straight brown hair came from the kitchen and sat next to him. She extended a hand wordlessly and Michael shook it.

“I'm Jenna,” she said. “Brooke’s sister.”

“I'm Michael; friend of hers.”

Stiffly, Michael made light conversation with her. He made more of an effort to draw her out and listen than talk. He wasn't feeling keen to share. He learned as much as he could about the girl; searching her brown eyes for clues of her character. He wondered if she was the older or younger sibling but didn't bother asking. It didn't really matter.

Jenna was rather different from Brooke. She was naturally reserved but warm and personable. Michael decided pretty quickly he liked her.

After her sister left, Brooke’s husky came rushing toward him from the hallway and jumped into Michael’s lap. He sighed as the blue eyed creature licked the last salty remains of earlier tears from his face.

In his reluctance to speak he listened to the chatter of a hushed commercial on TV. He gazed toward the ceiling and watched a dusty fan blade spinning. Brooke didn't like the quiet too much so the fan and TV were on to create white noise. It eased his mind.

“Me and Jeremy are fighting,” he muttered.

“Oh shit,” Brooke said. “That’s… fuck. I don't know what to say. What happened?”

“Well, I was bitch-ass drunk last night.”

“This I knew.” She smiled softly. “We had the world’s best time though. You're pretty fucking cute when you're drunk though.”

“Yeah. Well… I kissed him.”

Her eyes went wide. “Whoa. Was it bad or something?”

He shook his head. “He kissed me back. Hard.”

“Like… chaste hard or tongue-down-your-throat hard?”

He smiled at her lack of boundaries. The girl had no filter and he loved her for it.

“So what’s wrong? He doesn't feel the same?” she asked.

“No, the problem is, he does,” Michael sighed.

“Oh. So I guess it's complicated?”

“Yeah. He wants a relationship, and I… erm...”

“Complicated?” she asked softly.

Brooke braced herself and lifted herself up to sit on the counter. Her legs swayed through the air affably. To no surprise her socks didn't match.

“Yeah,” he breathed as they fell into a moment of silence. He worked his fingers through soft black fur. The dog licked his fingers and draped its paw over his arm. It sensed his emotions and matched his morose demeanor.

She slid off the counter and sat beside him.

“Sounds like whatever is holding you back… you need to let it go, Michael.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. Sandwiched between her and the dog, he eased into his seat.

“So I've been told,” he said.

“He loves you,” Brooke said. “Don't let that go to waste. Not for anything.”

“Okay,” he sighed into her soft, blonde hair. “I don't know what to do though.”

“I know you've got walls. We can all see it. But I promise you it's worth letting them down for him.”

“You really think so?”

She hummed. “I know. Why the hell do you think I'm single? Trust issues, dumbass.”

Three days passed slowly, all in a single blur. He slept on the couch with the dog curled next to his chest, drove to work with Brooke, and chatted about everything that didn't matter. It was easy, peaceful… and sad. He spent most of his time trying not to think about his life. Trying not to rot in the endless guilt of what he had and hadn't done.

* * *

It wasn't long before Michael discovered Brooke had nightmares. Horrible, scream-inducing nightmares. Late into his third night on her couch, the stagnant silence was torn to shreds by a piercing cry that shook Michael from his sleep. It sent him rushing with a burst of adrenaline into Brooke’s room.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

Beads of shining sweat clung to her flesh. With skin like a ghost she had her arms wrapped around a pillow. White flesh all but glowed in the darkened room. Her fingers strained into the fabric as though she were clinging to life itself.

“It's okay,” he shushed. “What happened?”

“Bad dreams,” she sighed. She drew her knees up around her chin. “I don't have them all the time, but they're awful when I do. It feels too real.”

“I've had them too,” he said. “I get it.”

He sat on the bed next to her and leaned into her so she could tuck her head under his chin.

“It’s over,” he said. “I'm right here.”

“Yeah,” she said distantly.

She sighed against him.

“It's gonna be alright.”

“I know,” she breathed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Definitely not,” she groaned.

Her hair tickled his face as he nodded. Even soaked in cold sweat she still smelled like soap and warmth.

“Michael?” she said softly.

“Yeah?”

“Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

He shifted his weight to lie on the bed, and let her ease close to him.

“I'm right here,” he reassured.

“You're my best friend, you know,” she said, wrapping an arm around his chest.

“And you're mine.”

“Nah,” she sighed. “Jeremy is your best friend.”

“No,” he chuckled. “Jeremy is like… my soulmate. My companion through life. Huge difference.”

“Oh hush, drama queen.”

It was peaceful resting against her for the night. He wondered what plagued her mind so deep into her dreams that she returned to reality with a scream like that. He imagined her guardian angel in heaven aching to see her tormented with them. It was a feeling he knew too well.

As he drifted back to sleep, settled into the warmth of her smaller body against his larger one, he mused on the concept. She may not have been his responsibility but he still had the means to protect her. Caring for someone when you didn't have to was a privilege in its own right.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first sound of the next morning was a distant hiss of shower water from the bathroom as he woke up alone.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael has a long overdue talk with Jeremy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello all! this update was surprisingly ready by today, which might seem unremarkable to anyone else, but today's my birthday! ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ )
> 
> no TW today; happy reading!

The first sound of the next morning was a distant hiss of shower water from the bathroom as he woke up alone.

Brooke, like Jeremy, seemed to be an early riser. He roused himself and trekked out of the room in favor of breakfast. The kitchen floor was cold under his bare feet. The dog licked his legs as he stood.

Brooke came into the kitchen several minutes later, running a towel over wet hair. He chewed on a peanut butter sandwich and watched the morning news. Neither of them mentioned the previous night.

Work ran slowly but comfortably for a Saturday. They took food from the diner home with them and spent their evening watching a college football game.

“Shit, Brooke cheered at the TV. “Wide receiver just ran like a bat outta hell. That had to be, what, 40 yards?”

“Maybe a little more,” Michael said, chewing on a toothpick. “Fucker’s fast. I'm impressed.”

“Damn right. He keeps going like that he'll make the NFL.”

Football was a primal sport; aggressive and dangerous. He didn't mind watching it from time to time but it was an entirely new experience seeing a game with Brooke. Her commentary made him laugh.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling a text message.

Attentive as always, Brooke asked, “Is that Jeremy?”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

**Today 12:26 PM**

_come home._

No ‘please’; it wasn't a question. Jeremy wasn't begging. He was telling him to be there. A chill crept ominously up his spine. _Please be okay_ , he prayed.

“He says to come home,” he said.

Wasting no time, Brooke leapt from the couch. “Well, get your shit together then. I’ll drive you like, now.”

“Okay,” he said in a low tone.

He took less than five minutes gathering his belongings and stuffing them in his backpack. He accepted a goodbye kiss from the dog and followed Brooke to the car.

“You're the best friend I've had,” he told her as he stepped out of the vehicle toward his and Jeremy’s apartment.

“Damn right I am.” Brooke grinned. “Don’t screw things up with Jer, alright?”

“I'll do my best,” he said. “Thanks, Brookie.”

“Any day, pretty boy. I'll see you at work on Monday.”

* * *

The apartment was dead silent when Michael went in. There was no music leaking from headphones or a record player; no scratch of a pencil against paper; no flutter of turning book pages. Only stillness.

Michael crossed himself and said a Hail Mary under his breath. He found Jeremy in the kitchen. The man sat on the floor with his head against a cabinet. A full bottle of vodka sat by his foot. He stared into the air with blank eyes, twirling a razor blade between his fingers. It glinted in the light with each rotation; a treacherous sparkle.

The man’s eyes were dark and his mouth pressed together in a tight line. His legs sprawled carelessly across the tile. He hadn't even taken his shoes off from work.

“Jer,” he whispered shakily. He eased down to kneel in front of him.

“Couldn't fucking do it,” Jeremy said softly. “I wanted to, but I just couldn't. Couldn't face the idea of you knowing I’d fallen back down.”

Michael touched his face. Jeremy sighed as his fingers ghosted his cheek and then his jawline. He thought of kissing him as he pursed his lips sadly. He didn't dare.

“You're stronger than that,” he told him.

“Or I care too much,” said Jeremy flatly.

“There’s no such thing as caring too much.”

Michael sat down next to him. He leaned his shoulder against Jeremy’s and put his hand in his. Jeremy gripped his fingers and lifted their hands to stare at them. His face remained blank, except for a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

They sat in silence until the man let out a soft sob. Tears ghosted his cheeks and stained his eyelashes. Michael held tight to his hands and pressed his lips to his forehead as Jeremy folded around him, crying.

The time spent on the kitchen floor with both of their tears and regrets felt like days.

“We can't keep this up,” said Jeremy heavily. “It’s stupid.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, unsure exactly which direction Jeremy was taking this.

“We both have a lot of baggage. But whatever is getting between us… We’re better than that, Mikey.”

“I know,” he said.

They sat in silence a moment. Fear seemed to be the dominating emotion, mixing in a cocktail of adrenaline and certainty. They seemed at a standstill; touching innocently but not crossing the lines they'd had for so long.

Jeremy leaned his head against his temple and he sighed. The man’s breath tickled his ear as he let out a small laugh.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” Michael chuckled.

“Oh just… questions.”

“Well ask away, dickhead. I'm pretty sure there aren't any answers you don't deserve at this point.”

Michael was reminded of the first day when he’d sat at the table and let Jeremy ask him everything under the sun.

“I just… you're my guardian angel. You know me.”

“Yeah,” Michael said.

“It's just weird. You said you've seen my whole life… Is that everything?”

“Pretty much. Nothing too, um… private, if that's what you mean.”

“Good to know,” Jeremy laughed. “But I mean… All those years.”

“You process time differently in the afterlife,” Michael said. “Years feel a lot shorter. More like weeks, really.”

“Huh. That's cool. That time I was almost raped in the alleyway on Halloween…”

“Scary day for me,” Michael said.

“All those years, I remembered the wicked look in that guy’s eyes and wondered what kept him from raping me.”

“I did,” Michael said softly. “Just… nudged him in the guilt a little. Even evil men have souls.”

“Wow,” said Jeremy.

“I made damn sure it snowed every winter too.”

“You're too hard on yourself,” Jeremy said softly. “I know you feel bad. But I could never hold anything that’s happened to me against you.”

“I wish I could forgive myself the way you forgive me,” Michael said.

“Me too.”

Everything weighing Jeremy down and holding him back fell through. He questioningly gazed into Michael’s eyes a moment and kissed him. The softest touch of his mouth against his and he felt his pulse rush. He kept it innocent, gentle; and then rested his forehead against his.

“I love you,” Michael breathed.

“Me too. More than you know,” Jeremy said.

The smooth, hard edge of the razor was placed in his palm as Jeremy surrendered his last defenses. Michael threw it toward the trash can and hummed as it landed with a _clink_ against something glass in the bin.

He shifted onto his knees and wrapped his hand around Michael’s neck. Jeremy’s long fingers were steady behind his ear. The tile floor was cool beneath his palms as he supported himself, all but straddling him. His thighs were solid against his legs; teasing but not too much to bear. The deep contact felt like the wave of a white flag. A truce.

Jeremy kissed him hard. Michael felt a low noise escape his throat as he parted his lips and fell deep into him. For the moment, he let go of the guilt that shackled him. He lost himself in the warmth of his skin and the surety in his pulse. It was like a high as he felt Jeremy’s breath against his cheek. Not like being drunk—he was too aware of each sensation. He tasted the last traces of salty tears on his skin and leaned up to wrap his hands around his shoulders.

“Easy,” he hummed warningly as Jeremy began to work his mouth across his jaw. He groaned softly as he suckled at a tender spot behind his ear. “Not too fast.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said gently, breath cool against the wet spot he’d created on his jaw. He checked his watch. “It's late.”

“Yeah. You should get to bed,” whispered Michael.

“Come with me,” a wince crossed his eyes. “Not… Not like that. Nothing much. Just stay.”

“Alright,” Michael said, rising to his feet.

Jeremy lead him to the bedroom. Michael realized he'd never been in there. There were clothes on the floor, discarded sketches, and open books. Much like Jeremy himself, it was a poetic sort of disaster. He stripped his jeans off for the night and found himself feeling briefly awkward in his boxers.

The gray sheets were cool against his bare legs and Jeremy was warm. There was an odd intimacy in sleeping next to someone. It required letting your guard down completely. No more walls or defenses.

The distant rush of cars passing on the highway seemed so far away. No one could touch them here. There was the dependable rise and fall of Jeremy’s chest beneath his arm; the gentle caress as he toyed his hair between his fingers; the secure contact in the way their bodies intertwined. He didn't know where he ended and Jeremy began anymore. He didn't want to.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy took his mornings slower with Michael next to him. He found himself lying awake to soak up the peace in his sleeping expression. He snored softly with his mouth askew. Nothing troubled him in these fragile moments. Jeremy felt somehow that he was the one meant to keep Michael safe—not the other way around.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael and Jeremy do IT together for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no TWs today; happy reading!

Jeremy took his mornings slower with Michael next to him. He marveled at the soft noises he made in his sleep; the tiniest of moans and sighs. Every now and then he'd twitch, like a sleeping puppy.

He found himself lying awake to soak up the peace in his sleeping expression. He snored softly with his mouth askew. Nothing troubled him in these fragile moments. Jeremy felt somehow that he was the one meant to keep Michael safe—not the other way around.

Michael didn't like to get up but instead had a habit of latching onto him and keeping him prisoner. He definitely didn't mind it, except maybe when he was itching for a cigarette. Most mornings he lost himself in the smell of his skin and the pace of his breath. Sometimes he stared at his tattoos and tried to choose a favorite.

When Michael finally did rouse himself he was talkative and only moderately coherent. He'd rub his eyes, yawn a few times, and sit with his back against the headboard. Jeremy brought coffee into the bedroom so they could talk and lean on one another before work.

“You think the couch feels lonely?” Michael snickered into his mug that morning.

“Do I think the couch _feels_?” he laughed.

“It's a reasonable question,” Michael said. His nose wrinkled as he grinned. “I mean, I slept on the sofa for a long time. How would you feel if someone slept next to you all those weeks and then abandoned you for someone more comfy?”

“Only you would actually spend time thinking about this stuff," said Jeremy in a fond tone. Jeremy kissed Michael's temple and sighed softly against him. Things were different between them now, undoubtedly for the better. He leaned in further to meet his lips.

He could see the moments when Michael was grappling to trust him. He understood. Sometimes trust wasn't about fearing the other person’s intentions but imagining that one day they'd wake up and not love you anymore. He was surprised he wasn't feeling the same thing… If there was a struggle they shared, it was self-loathing.

He trusted Michael implicitly. He never felt he deserved his love but he couldn't imagine him ever betraying him. Michael was loyal in ways he couldn't wrap his head around.

“You've got a weird mixture of coffee and morning breath,” Jeremy said softly.

“So do you, dummy,” Michael said.

* * *

Jeremy let out a shiver as droplets of water left over from the shower he'd taken earlier fell onto his skin. Still, he didn't draw back from him. _Fucking masochistic_ , he thought.

“It's New Year’s Eve,” Jeremy said. “You excited for the concert tonight?”

He saw the moment he remembered. The grin spread into his eyes.

“Hell yeah!” said Michael. “It's gonna be so fuckin' rad.”

He repressed a tremble as Michael's fingers brushed his spine. Surely they were past the point that they could say they were rushing? Darkly, he wondered if he was loud when he came. Jesus, he hoped so. He thought too of each piece of artwork that must have rested in places he'd never noticed or seen. All those tattoos…

He shook the thought from his head and stood up to get more coffee.

* * *

There was a surprising amount of solace to be found in the routine they'd created. The nights spent resting innocently against each other; the quiet mornings; the idle touches through the day; kissing in the car before work… The world hurt less.

The concert was easily one of the best nights of his life. The band meant more to Michael but he still enjoyed it. He smiled at the sight of his bright eyes, fixated ahead. He didn't let go of his hand for a moment the entire show but he never glanced away from the stage either. He noticed him singing along under his breath with most songs.

Every sense was overloaded with bright lights, the screaming guitars, pounding drums, cheers of the crowd, bodies brushing against his own, and the mixed smells of smoke and cheap alcohol. He could see Michael loving every second of it with a transparent intensity.

The show ended with Tim Armstrong getting the crowd to count down to the New Year. No later than the moment midnight came, Michael kissed him hard.

“Happy New Year,” he gasped against him.

Like a high, adrenaline surged through Jeremy’s system even when the show was over. Locked in a moment with Michael forever was the second the New Year began. He'd wrapped his hands around his face and let himself collide into him.

“Happy New Year,” Jeremy said breathlessly.

* * *

“That was the best night ever,” Michael sighed in the car.

“Yeah?” Jeremy grinned widely; the smile he wore bled into his eyes, lighting them up.

“Yeah,” Michael said. And he didn't want to think anymore, didn’t want to hold himself back, he only wanted to keep feeling. He needed to drown in it.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into Jeremy’s ear. Running his fingers through the other man's curly hair, he kissed a path down his jawline, neck, and collarbone. “Let’s go home.”

A strange expression of happiness and at the same time, want, stayed in Jeremy’s eyes as they drove home.

“What are you thinking?” Jeremy hummed thoughtfully, referring to his hand resting against his inner thigh as he drove.

“That it's gonna be a hell of a year.” Michael smirked. He watched a flush seep across Jeremy’s face as he traced delicate circles with his thumb over his jeans.

He fidgeted anxiously with the keys and finally got the door open. They idled around the apartment for what felt like ages, making innocent yet loaded conversation, recapping the night. Michael’s resolve hardened as he caught the sight of the bedroom door. He was steady. He was sure.

Jeremy met him halfway as he leaned forward. Feverish and intense, he kissed him and felt the man’s hand come to rest on his hip. Panting, he broke the kiss and leaned his head against him. Methodically he ran his hand up his stomach and chest. He felt him tremble and savored it.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jeremy whispered.

“Positive,” he said firmly. Because he really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really just did not feel like writing a sex scene because 1. i hate any form of fetishization and/or yaoi 2. i reallllllyyyyy don't feel like it. i do hope you can forgive me（´υ｀）
> 
> also! school is starting soon. i was hoping i would be able to finish this by the end of summer but who knows? another school year will be starting for me and college really keeps you on your feet lol. but! i will try to update the next chapter when i can :p


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My ass hurts,” Michael said as he woke up.
> 
> “Sorry about that.”
> 
> -
> 
> Michael and Jeremy, post-sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the huge gap in between last chapter and this, i was really busy!!!
> 
> no TWs today; happy reading!

“My ass hurts,” Michael said as he woke up. The statement was a half-groan, half-laugh.

Jeremy winced. “Sorry about that.”

Michael shook his head. “Fuck, don't be sorry. I think I like it.”

“You’re such a kinky bitch,” Jeremy chuckled.

“To be fair, your dick is kind of big.” Michael smirked as he kissed the other man's blushing cheek.

He toyed Jeremy’s hair in his fingers as Jeremy nestled his face in his neck.

“I told my mom and dad you were just a friend,” Jeremy said. “They're never gonna let me hear the end of it now.”

“Nah,” Michael said. “I’ll just tell them you were just too charming and gorgeous to resist and I worked tirelessly to win you over.”

Jeremy giggled softly against his skin.

Michael dragged his fingers across his stomach idly. Jeremy’s leg brushed against Michael’s own as he ran his hand curiously over the word “hope” tattooed on his chest. Waking up naked next to Jeremy had to be one of the best feelings of his entire life.

“What now?” Jeremy asked. He sounded scared, almost fragile.

“I don't know,” Michael said. He pressed his lips to his forehead and eased closer. “But you’re kind of stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

“You can't promise that. Things happen. I could still lose you.” He sighed.

“I can't die, Jeremy,” Michael said simply.

Jeremy’s brows knitted together and he met his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Being sent down here was a lesson. I lost my wings and my place in heaven for a set period of time.”

“How much time?” Jeremy asked eagerly.

He watched Michael’s face as he spoke, as though he told him of wondrous things. And they were, he supposed. Taking the things he knew for granted would be shameful. All of this was new to Jeremy.

He sighed and forced himself to trust him. “For the rest of your life,” he said.

“Wait,” Jeremy said. He pulled away from Michael like he’d been scalded. “I'm part of your punishment?”

“No!” Michael blurted. Michael caressed Jeremy’s jaw line and turned his face to look into his eyes. “You were never anything but a blessing, Jer. A privilege.”

He kissed him gently and continued, “God is fair. She said I had to learn my lesson. But that taking you from me was more than I deserved.”

“I don't know what to say,” Jeremy said.

“Then don't say anything if you don’t want to,” said Michael, and kissed him again.

Jeremy leaned his body against his and reached forward to stroke his hair. Cool strips of sunlight streaked through the window and onto the bed.

“You were the one thing I got to keep,” Michael whispered. “And you'll be with me up there too.”

“You know,” Jeremy hummed. “You were always there when I needed you. Even if you feel like you weren't.”

“That means a lot,” he said.

He took Jeremy’s left arm in his hands and held it between them. He took in the sight of each faded pink line and ran his fingers across the scars. Both of them held tight to the sorrow in their eyes as Michael tenderly brushed his fingers across them and kissed his wrist.

Michael vividly remembered each instance that created those scars. He'd never be able to understand how a person as beautiful and kind as Jeremy could destroy himself so easily, without even thinking twice.

“I love you, Miah,” he said. “More than you could know.”

“I love you too. For everything.”

“I'll always be here. I swear to you.”

They leaned on each other that way for a long time.

“You really need a shower,” Michael said. A strand of greasy, curly brown hair slid through his fingers.

Jeremy smirked. “You wanna come with me?”

“Hell yeah.” Michael grinned.

Jeremy teasingly pinched Michael's bare ass as they both got out of bed. Michael turned his head, sticking his tongue out childishly towards Jeremy. A gentle laugh came from Jeremy. And with that, the two men exited from the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we only have 1 more chapter left!!!! (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯) I cannot believe how far this fic has come ahhhh!!!!!! I absolutely love everyone who has left a bookmark on this, has left a comment on this, left a kudos on this, and who has even taken the time out of their day to read this! it absolutely means the entire world to me that people have loved this and it amazes me that everyone has been so incredibly kind???? thinking of everyone's support seriously brings tears to me eyes :,) anyways, no need to get all emotional now, heh. the epilogue will take a bit longer to be posted, since it'll be longer than the last two i've written, but it will eventually be posted. take care!!!!


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ugh, motherfucker,” Jeremy screeched as soap-slicked water seeped into his socks.
> 
> -
> 
> Michael and Jeremy have fun at the laundromat and Jeremy pops the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has all been such a ride. so I am happy (but very sad) to present the final chapter of Fallen From Grace :,)

“Ugh, _motherfucker,_ ” Jeremy screeched as soap-slicked water seeped into his socks.

His frustrated wail prompted Michael to check out the cause of the noise.

“You sound like a— _ah, what the_ —” he said as he stepped into the same pool of gray-tinted sudsy water. “Oh, you bastard,” he hissed at the washing machine. “Explains why you sound like a dying fruit bat.”

Jeremy threw his hands up exasperatedly and looked up at him with a _what-the-hell-else-did-you-expect-asshole?_ expression. Michael responded with a halfway agitated, halfway amused expression with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Water continued to pool around their feet.

“I told you the washer needed work,” he said smugly.

Shaking his head and not quite grinning, Jeremy raised his middle finger up at Michael.

“Alright, well now it does,” Jeremy said. He sighed. “Ugh, now what?”

“Uh…” Michael said. “I dunno. Clean up the mess and go to that laundromat a couple blocks away?”

“I guess,” Jeremy groaned.

As the rest of the wash drained from the basin and onto the floor, Michael made his way to the towel rack to clean up the mess. He seemed less adversely affected about the mishap than Jeremy did, which actually managed to calm him down.

Comically enough, as Michael walked, his shoe made a shrill squeal sound across the linoleum when he lost traction to the soap. Jeremy watched wide eyed, as Michael’s legs shot out from beneath him and his back hit the floor. He splashed down into the mess, surprisingly quiet like he hadn't yet processed what just happened. Droplets of water hit Jeremy’s clothes and face. The vibrations of his impact made ripples in the pool of it.

Before he had the chance to respond to it and ask if he was okay, Michael spread his arms into the drenched floor and began shrieking with laughter.

“What the _hell_ just happened to me?” he cried, letting loose another wave of rasping laughs. Jeremy started laughing too, loud and hard as he took in the sight of a red-faced, sputtering Michael sprawled at his feet.

As he gained his composure, he extended a hand to help Michael to his feet. Before he could register what was happening, Michael gave a sharp yank on his arm to pull him to the flooded linoleum too. The bathroom blurred as he fell forward. A loud splash and a thump later he was lying on top of Michael in the floor, head spinning. His clothes went soggy quickly and the cold slimy soap slicked his skin. The strong floral stench of the detergent filled his nose.

He couldn't believe what Michael had just done, or worse yet, he could. The guy was lucky he was so handsome because he was more devilish than angelic at times; a definite handful. He was both a chatterbox and a ball of energy.

Jeremy’s knees throbbed where they had hit the hard floor and one of Michael’s ribs was jabbing into a soft spot of his stomach. He squirmed where he'd fallen on top of him.

“Oh, what'd you do that for?” he groaned, trying not to laugh harder. Water sloshed around their two bodies as he shifted his weight into a more comfortable-ish position.

“For fun,” Michael grinned. The taller man gripped Jeremy’s hair and yanked him forcefully into a kiss, breathless and sloppy.

“Fun,” Jeremy scoffed. “You're an asshole.”

“And you love me for it,” Michael said smugly.

Jeremy nodded and finally broke his composure, wheezing as he laughed until his stomach ached. He ran his fingers through Michael’s drenched hair and kissed his face.

“Hm,” Jeremy hummed against his skin. “Now we have a bigger mess.”

Michael snickered wickedly and said, “Laundromat.”

Jeremy pushed himself up on unsteady legs and checked his watch.

“Are laundromats open this late?” Jeremy asked. “It's like ten PM.”

“Usually. There's gotta be at least one in town that's twenty-four hours,” Michael said.

Jeremy nodded, helping Michael collect towels. Jeremy worked to wipe the floor dry as Michael washed the sudsy mess of detergent water out of his hair.

“Quit watching me shower, you creep,” Michael said, grinning. His eyes remained closed but he clearly sensed Jeremy’s eyes on him.

“But you're so pretty,” Jeremy retorted. “A free show is a free show.”

“Fuck you too, Jere,” Michael chuckled.

The handle squeaked as he turned the water off, dried himself, and put the dirty shirt back on. Droplets fell from his hair as he toweled it.

“You’re gross,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah well, I’ve got clean jeans but this shirt is all that’s left. Everything was in the wash,” Michael defended.

“Fair enough,” said Jeremy. “I'm gonna go change.”

Once he came back, the two loaded their soggy laundry into a hamper and set off into the cold night.

Michael’s driving was so much steadier than his own, Jeremy mused. The man worked his hands smoothly on the steering wheel like a natural motion. His shoulders rested lax against the seat and his face was peaceful. He appeared so at ease and sure of his movements. He hummed as he drove, soft and low in his throat. It placed a sense of safety in Jeremy’s chest, a security he hadn't previously felt. Sometimes he thought of simply driving somewhere all night; sleeping to his soft hums and gentle maneuvers as the world rushed by.

Clouds of smoke left his mouth as he drove; cigarette darting smoothly between his lips and a resting place against the steering wheel. He had an attractive, comforting sort of rhythm as he drove and smoked. The warmth of his secondhand smoke and body heat relaxed Jeremy.

Michael eased the car into a parking spot at an empty laundromat, vacant but still lit up.

“Told ya,” Michael smiled. “Open. Let’s head in.”

With that, he put his cigarette out, heaved the dripping laundry hamper out of the car, and walked up to the door. Jeremy held it open for him as he carried the load. The laundromat was cool and not cold inside, a relief from the biting Jersey winter.

Laundromats piqued Jeremy’s interest somehow; the way no two were alike. This one was rather abused; the walls were graffitied and stained, the washers and dryers were dented, and the lights flickered occasionally. Out of order vending machines sat lonely in the back corner.

Michael tossed the soggy laundry into washers while Jeremy changed cash into quarters to pay for the machines.

Jeremy quirked an eyebrow as Michael stripped his shirt off and threw it in the washer.

“Oh shut up,” chuckled Michael. “It's my favorite shirt and nobody’s here.”

“I wasn't complaining.” Jeremy smiled and kissed the exposed man’s forehead.

“God, it's cold,” Michael hissed, nipples hardened and skin prickling with goosebumps.

Smirking, Jeremy put his hands on Michael’s bare skin and traced the lines of flesh and ink down his back. He liked the soft sensation of his chilled skin beneath his fingertips. Humming, Michael leaned in close to absorb some of the heat emanating off him.

“You're so warm,” Michael whispered, shoulders falling slack as Jeremy’s fingers ghosted over the raised flesh of scars on his back.

He planted a chaste kiss on the tattoo at the side of his neck and pulled him closer. He yelped as Michael wickedly stuck his icy fingers up his shirt to warm them on his back.

Stripping the sweater off himself, he handed the warm fabric to Michael and stood awkwardly in his remaining tee shirt. Eagerly, the taller man put the shirt on and hummed contentedly.

The world passed them by, left in their comfortable silence as the washers took their sweet time. An endearingly menacing streak of mischief crossed Michael’s face, in all eventuality. Usually the expression meant something bad or fun was about to happen; most often both, in Jeremy’s experience. He must have terrorized all of heaven with his reckless impulsivity once.

Just like that, Michael seized a rickety laundry cart and clambered into it. The thing rattled with the motion and gave a small squeak of protest. Lacking no sense of glee, he awkwardly pushed himself around the laundromat with his arms sprawled aloof. He grinned and let out a series of small whooping noises as the cart gained velocity. It left Jeremy only to watch as a grown man—a fallen angel no less—fly around a vacant laundromat in a cart letting out a variety of loud happy noises. Frequently he’d reach his feet out to a table or a washer, give himself a good shove, and burst into careless laughter as he spun around at top speed and crashed into various speeds.

He fumbled around to get out of the cart and finally said, “Come on, Jer! Live a little!”

“You’re such a teenager!” Jeremy retorted, grinning wide.

“Goddamn fucking right. I’ll be young and dumb forever and I don’t regret it a bit. Get your ass over here,” he giggled.

Shaking his head in mirth, disbelief, and pure amusement, Jeremy complied.

Being smaller than Michael, it wasn’t quite as much as a squeeze getting into the cart. His knees hung over the edge and he kept his hands grasped firmly on both sides of the thing. He couldn’t believe he was doing this but he’d be damned if he wasn’t having the time of his life.

Cheering in all joy and reckless abandon, Michael shoved the Jeremy-filed laundry cart away hard, sending him into a whirlwind of adrenaline and wheezing laughter. He kicked his feet around as he spun around and rolled loudly across the room. His knee banged the side of a washer pretty damn hard, which really just made him laugh harder.

It went on for some time, probably leaving a ridiculously incriminating video on the surveillance cameras. For once Jeremy didn’t care what the world thought. There was only the rush of dizziness behind his eyes and the shrill sound of Michael’s laughter in his ears.

The rough teenage-reminiscent escapade slowed to a stop as Jeremy pushed himself off a wall and collided sharply, cart and all, against Michael’s legs. The man winced from the impact at first but stuck to his playful mood, thrusting his hands into Jeremy’s hair and forcing the remainder of his hyper mood into a kiss. The sprawled man in the cart reached back for him. He held him there and hummed against his mouth. He liked the roughness of his tattooed fingers resting on his scalp and tugging his hair.

Michael left the excitement there on his lips and set off on a mission to fold laundry as the final drying cycle finished with a resounding buzz. Feeling young, dumb, and in love, Jeremy really couldn’t imagine it getting better than this. In its simplicity and ease, he loved the life he’d built since that crazy day Michael (quite literally) crashed into his life.

The snow on the pavement under their feet crunched like a whisper, crisp and barely there as they loaded the basket of folded laundry into the car.

“God, turn on the heat,” Michael hissed, rubbing his hands together as he cranked the car.

Shaking his head, Jeremy complied. The steady swoosh of hot air licked at his skin and began to fog the windows.

He watched Michael leaning blissfully into the stream of hot air, long eyelashes adorning his closed lids. He hummed contentedly as he stopped shivering and relaxed himself.

Jeremy didn’t think as he gave heed to the pulsing sensation beneath his flesh; he just leaned over the center console to bring his mouth down on Michael’s. The other man reacted in an instant, gripping his shoulders and sighing hotly against his cheek. It stayed soft and chaste at first, filled with affection and gentility.

The moment Michael's resolve snapped sent his system rushing with adrenaline. Jeremy gasped sharply as his chilled fingers journeyed from his shoulders down to his waist. The sting of his bottom lip catching between his teeth injected a shiver into his spine.

Michael pulled away for a breath and pressed his forehead head to his own, evening out the movement of air in his lungs.

“Backseat,” Jeremy pleaded, meeting his soft eyes.

Michael smiled. “Jer, I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Mm, that’s a shame,” he smirked, tracing Michael’s collarbones softly enough for it to tickle.

“Fuck it,” Michael finally hissed, shuttling the ignition off and roughly pulling Jeremy out of his chair to shove him into the backseat.

His breath clouded in the cold air, further fogging the glass. Each sense overloaded in the familiar motions of Michael all over him; fast, rough and affectionate.

Jeremy squirmed under the man’s weight as he pinned him hard into the backseat. It was poetry; Michael working his belt undone, teasing his hands across his inner thighs, kissing his cheek and breathing heavily into his hair. The whole world slipped far away as he gave himself over into the rhythmic sensation of Michael’s hips rolling against his own. The same noises he knew so well, the contradiction of rough hands and soft lips, the shuddery heat of Michael coming around him… It was art.

Michael pressed his cheek into his shoulder as Jeremy went soft beneath him. His sweaty hair brushed against his bare skin as he eased off him and stayed silent, drenched in afterglow. He smelled like cigarettes, laundry detergent, faded cologne, and warmth.

The two eventually regained composure and dressed themselves before the cold became overwhelming.

Jeremy sat up, only to be pulled back down by Michael.

“I don’t want to go home,” he whispered. He grasped for Jeremy, still sounding wrecked and faded. “Stay here with me, please, Jer.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said softly, kissing his temple.

He shifted his body weight to lay down behind the taller man, conforming to the shape of him and resting his chin against his neck. Michael sighed slowly as Jeremy wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned into him to hold him safe and keep him warm.

They rested there for a long time, wordlessly. He never wanted to lose this security.

“I’ve got an idea,” Jeremy whispered timidly, unsure of himself.

“Mm, tell me,” Michael said.

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said, doubting the concept in his head.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” said Michael, turning to meet his eyes.

The words fell from his mouth all at once, shrouded in affection. They sounded more confident out loud than in his own mind.

“Marry me,” he said, desperately searching Michael’s face for a reaction.

He felt foolish, blurting something a proposal so suddenly. Maybe this was the part where he finally fucked all of this up.

But Michael’s eyes shined. He just hummed and planted a light touch of his mouth against his.

“Of course,” he whispered casually, resting his head against him and closing his eyes.

“Really?” Jeremy said, taken aback.

“Yeah,” Michael grinned, eyes still closed. “Now shut up, it’s late.”

“I love you,” he murmured into his hair.

“I love you too, Jer.”

This life wasn’t heaven. Maybe they did live in a fractured world but he was sure he loved Michael for his flaws most. All his imperfections and rough edges, lined here against his own. It was enough, he decided, and he closed his eyes and fell into the warm abyss of sleep.

_**Fin.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's over!!!! jesus, this has been such a ride and I’m just... speechless. thank you readers, viewers, commenters, bookmarkers and everyone else! 
> 
> but maybe this isn't goodbye? I’ve been thinking about making a prequel of Michael's life before he died. but I’m only doing it if people want it. what would you all say?
> 
> anyways, thank you all.  
> i will see you guys around :)


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